


Legends Forgotten: The King of the Sands Part I

by FilmFreak94



Series: Legends Forgotten [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:58:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 71,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilmFreak94/pseuds/FilmFreak94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every 100 years one male Gerudo is born, destined to be king of the tribe and all its people. And when a dark king returns from his imprisonment the Gerudo must hide their sovereign, training him to one day return to the land of Hyrule and reclaim his throne from the dark wizard, Ganondorf. But can a child so young have any hope of facing someone with his power, and can he fulfill his destiny, stepping out of the shadows of heroes of old to forge his own legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another birthday gift for a friend, and possibly the most ambitious one I've ever concocted. The first part is complete and I'm currently working on the second, hopefully it won't take too long to finish it. If I could get all of this done by the end of the year at least that would be nice. Until then, enjoy.

Her heart kept pace with every beat of the horse’s hooves. Her breath steady as her eyes never wavered from what was directly in front of her. What that was she did not know, all she knew was that behind her only lay death and destruction. She could hear it, feel it burning, the last encampment of her people still brave enough to fight back. They would all be rounded up now, branded traitors or forced to join in his regiment. If he were a merciful man she might hope for the latter. At least then they would be spared, if only for a little while. She wiped away the sweat from her forehead before it could fall lower than her brow, she had no time to tire, no time to look back. She had no time at all.

            She had little time to begin with before their _ruler_ appeared. Barely any time to properly saddle the horse before it was time to flee. Every inch of her told her to go back and fight. To not let her people, her friends, her family to suffer his wrath alone. But she knew this could not be so. What she was carrying was far more precious than any pride she had for herself.

            And so she listened from afar as the last of them were burned away. She did not know how many would be forced into fighting, or if the pretender monarch would eviscerate them where they stood. She could only hear the screams and feel the fire that had begun to spread all throughout the forest. She would outrun the flames, outrun the false King, and take her precious cargo somewhere where they could make ready.

            As she neared the border of the kingdom she stopped her horse for one final look. It was worse than she had imagined. The forest was engulfed in a flame more terrible than any she had ever seen. The encampment was already up in smoke with nary a sight of her people or any of the enemy. She thought perhaps they might have seen her and took chase in the shadows, but no one, nor person or beast, was coming for her.

            The bundle she was holding began to cry as the image of the fire buried its way into her mind forever. She would remember it all so vividly for the rest of her life. The screams, the fire, the smell of burnt wood, and the true King of her people wailing into the night.

            “Hush child!” She scolded as she wrapped the swaddling cloth closer to his face. “Hush…” She repeated in a voice more fit to sooth the baby in her arms. It was a tiny thing, not even thirty minutes old, and yet upon his head sat the burden of their entire race that was dying before them. For this child was no mere babe plucked from the womb. He was a symbol, a hope in the darkness that was soon to cover these lands, the rightful King of their people, his throne taken from him by the return of a dark evil.

            “Sleep child,” She told the baby as he closed his eyes. She looked out at the burning forest one final time before wrapping her own face under her dark robes. “Our future rests with you.” With a kick to the horse’s sides and a quick turnabout they were off. Away from the burning forest and off into the Wild Lands. Far from the reach of the darkness and destruction, until the time would come to return to the once prosperous kingdom of Hyrule.

 

_This is but one of the legends of which the people have forgotten._


	2. Dungeon Crawl

It was dark. Darker than he’d been warned. The only light stretching across the seemingly endless darkness came from the lantern he had tied around his belt, and it only had about an hour before it went out. Armed with a sword that felt twice his size and a bow with quiver of arrows he was slowly learning to master, he took his first tentative steps through the darkness.

            As eerie as the darkness was, it paled in comparison to the silence. He had expected more ambience, more clear indication that he was not alone in this endless abyss, but there was nothing. Only the sound of his own breath and footsteps to keep him company. The warm glow of the lantern his only source of comfort. They would all betray him sooner or later. If the light didn’t go out when he least wanted it to then his feet would alert the creatures of the cave to his presence. His breath would echo throughout the cavern walls and like a corner of a spider’s web being struck, would send a signal to the deadliest of foes, giving himself away before he even had a chance to try and draw his sword. The keyword being “try.”

            The sword was a hand-me-down, a twin to another scimitar wielded by one who could carry both with greater ease. She was older than him, stronger and wiser, and it was she who had sent him here on his own as part of some final test. That was all his life had amounted to up to this point, tests and training. If he wasn’t training he was taking tests that challenged his skill and if his skills weren’t on par to how she thought they should be, it was back to training. Over and over as predictable as the movement of the sun and stars. But there would be no do-overs with this test. If he failed this one then he failed in ultimatum. She would not be here to help him, she told him that much before he went in, and whatever was in this cave he would face it alone.

            His final test before the ultimate one began.

            He took his lantern from his belt and held it out in front of him for a little more precaution. He could barely see his own feet and if he tripped and broke the lantern it would be the end of him. He would wander about the cave blindly until something came along and ate him or he died of starvation. It was nearly a stroke of misfortune then, when he gasped at the sight in front of him. It was a statue, something resembling a dragon’s head with its mouth wide open, until it was akin to a horrifying grin. Whatever it was it nearly made him drop his lantern. He brought it closer to the statue to get a better look and saw another one to his left. Inside both of their mouths were small wicks that could be burnt. He lit them both and discovered a large door no doubt leading deeper into the caves. He tied the lantern back on his belt and steeled himself, ready for whatever waited ahead. To his surprise the door opened itself when he approached it, sliding upwards into the top of the doorframe and shutting itself as soon as he stepped through, leaving him in the same darkness the previous room had. Except this time he was not alone.

            He could hear them chittering and fluttering about above him. Keese. A good many of them by the sound of it. Docile creatures when left alone but very temperamental and territorial as he discovered when he was five and stumbled onto one of their resting grounds. He drew his bow from the sack he always carried with him and pulled an arrow out of the quiver, keeping his fingers at the ready. It was difficult to tell which direction the Keese were coming from with the sound of their wings echoing all about the room, to say nothing of the screeches they made. He felt a gust of air blow by his ear when one of them no doubt flew past it, spinning him around to try and find where it had fled to. He shot an arrow to the ceiling which brought one of the Keese out of hiding. It was rushing towards him, its fangs bared and ready to sink into him. It didn’t frighten him as it used to. If this Keese were one of the poisonous breed there might have been cause for alarm, but there was no hesitation in the boy’s mind as he plucked another arrow from the quiver in his sack and shot it right between the creature’s eyes.

            It fell to the ground and disappeared in a puff of smoke, which he didn’t have time to witness. There were still other Keese to contend with, and the longer he stayed in the room the more upset they were getting. He wasn’t fast enough to dodge another rush from one of them, its wing scratching his cheek as it passed. It wasn’t a serious cut, but it stung nonetheless. He aimed at where the offending Keese had been but hit the cave wall, only just fast enough to realize another one was swooping right for him. He ducked just as the creature was about to bite and shot another arrow at it, this time hitting its wing. The creature screeched in pain as another one made an attack. Quick on the draw the boy struck the Keese in its stomach, watching with immense satisfaction as it vanished into smoke.

            The Keese that had been hit in the wing was still writhing on the ground. He watched it as it tried desperately to get back in the air, only to tumble back to the floor in more agony. It was a pitiful sight, making him wish he hadn’t struck it somewhere where it would be forced to suffer. He pulled out his sword and held it over the creature who had just given up trying to fly again. He looked into its enormous eyes and saw a terrible fear that was not unlike his own.

            “I’m sorry.” He said as he raised the sword. He closed his eyes as he brought it back down, ending the creature’s suffering for good.

            It was a small comfort that these creatures vanished into naught but smoke and air when they were killed, as he couldn’t bear to look at its body if it were still on the ground. He tried to put it out of his mind as he put his sword back in its sheath and went to work trying to find all the arrows he had fired. One, two… five in total. He would not hear the end of it from his caretaker if he left even one arrow behind. He turned his attention back to the room itself, his lantern guiding the way as he came across another door, identical to the one he had come through. Only this time a large lock had been placed upon it.

            “So where’s the key?” He asked the room, it was not inclined to answer back. Another test, this time within a test. He groaned as he took out his sword again. She loved to do this, to add layers to his training whenever she could. If there was ever a way she could implement her belief that “One should never look at things as they are,” she would take it, whether he liked it or not. And more often than not he didn’t.

            He began to tap at the walls of the cave with his sword, listening for anything unusual. He’d gotten to be a sort of expert on how a sword hitting a rock wall should sound. The metal should clang ever so slightly and the collision with the rock should form a rough but crinkly sound as bits of mineral fell from the bunch. The vibrations in the sword would barely be noticeable depending on how soft he hit it and he dared not strike the walls harder than he needed to. For there was a good chance if he were dealing with a particularly weak foundation that a simple tap could bring the whole cave down. She had likely accounted for that in choosing this cave for his final test. She may have been a rough teacher preferring to spare the spoiling and rod the child but she would not allow a cave-in to be the end of him. That was what the monsters no doubt laced throughout the cave were for.

            He found what he was looking for when the blade of the sword tapped against a part of the cave wall that was not like the others. Where there should have been a crinkly sound there was a strange emptiness, the vibration from each impact coursing through his hand. It was hollow. Removing his sack from his shoulder he knelt down to retrieve one of its heavier objects. One of three bombs that had been preemptively given to him the night before. He placed it near the hollow wall carefully, making sure it didn’t tumble out of his grasp. With incredible effort he managed to set it down, pulling his sack back around his arm and opening his lantern so that the fire was exposed. He took the fuse in one hand and brought it to the candle nestled safely inside the lantern as slow as he could manage. Until he saw the sparks flying off the tip of the bomb. That was when he shut the lantern and bolted to the other side of the room, covering his head as he waited for impact.

            The force from the explosion almost knocked him off his feet, even when he was well enough away from it. His caretaker had always given her bombs a little more kick than was probably necessary, but still they had done the trick. The hollow wall was now open and another room could be accessed. If his guess was correct it would be the room that led him to the key to open the way forward. What his guess had not accounted for was what else would be waiting for him inside.

            They had materialized out of the very air itself, from the bones scattered about the room that combined to create something that resembled something humanoid but not quite. They were bulkier, with skulls that almost seemed too large to be human. They wore the resemblance of battle armor and were armed with jagged swords that looked sharp enough to cut through flesh as though it were loose pieces of parchment. Their eyes pierced through the dark, the blue glow as radiant as his lantern, perhaps even more so. His sword was still at the ready, and now it would be put to more appropriate use.

            “What are these?” The voice of his caretaker was so clear in his thoughts that for a moment he imagined her by his side. She was not, not when the creature closest to him had raised its sword or when he parried it with his own. Still he answered her aloud.

            “Stalfos!” He yelled with strain in his voice. The Stalfos’s strength was a force to be reckoned with, and its partner sought to match it as it plunged its sword towards the boy.

            “What happens when you strike it?” He rolled away from the second Stalfos’s attack, ending his roll just behind the first one. A solid swipe from his sword and the creature was split in two. Not that it proved effective.

            “It continues to fight.” And it did. The Stalfos’s sword clashed with the boy’s in a furious dance, somehow able to prop itself on one arm and attack interchangeably with its right and left hand. And there was still the other one to contend with. It reared itself back and began to spin with fervent motion towards him, just as he lost his footing on the first Stalfos’s lower torso and was on the ground, struggling to keep his enemy’s sword from piercing him a fatal blow.

            “Where is it most vulnerable?” The creature’s horrible teeth chattered as it reared the answer closer to him.

            “The head!” In a swift motion he was able to push the jagged sword away from his scimitar, delivering a quick slash at the Stalfos’s head just as its companion was closing in. The first Stalfos crumbled into dust before his eyes and the second one had finished its attack, trying to find its balance again. He didn’t need to imagine what his caretaker might say but he heard it anyway.

            “Never give the enemy a moment to attack you again.”

            And with another slash to the head the second Stalfos was no more. In the ashes and bits of armor left behind rested the item he required, a silver key no bigger than his hand. He gave a deep sigh of relief as he followed the light back to the other room, where he placed the key inside the lock and saw with great satisfaction as it fell from the door and the door disappearing into the frame as the other one had. But it was far from over. The seven Stalfos in the next room were enough to convince him of that.

            “Oh,” he remarked as their blue eyes fixed on his. “Swell…”

 

            For what felt like an eternity he pushed on, fighting off the Stalfos and making his way through a door to the left, only to be met by more than a few Zols. Bothersome creatures more than anything else, and short work at that. On impulse he decided to make his way northwards, encountering another room full of Keese, joined this time by gelatinous monsters that were the bane of his existence. Like-Likes were disgusting creatures that looked as though they were composed of all the ugliest things in the world, with a dirty habit of stealing away precious items from one’s person if you allowed yourself to be sucked up by one to boot. And getting sucked into a Like-Like’s grasp or jaw or whatever one called it was no pleasant experience, he could attest. They also had a ridiculous name but he couldn’t think of anything else to describe them and doubted the people who had christened them could either.

            After almost losing his sack to one of the beasts he went northwards again, his primary focus seeking out where the final door was. With each room he went into and after all the monsters had been dealt with he made a note on a piece of parchment he’d taken in with him, drawing several squares next to each other and marking which room he was currently in so that he wouldn’t get lost. A part of him wished for a map that was already included with the cave but it felt rather foolish to expect someone to just leave a well-drawn out map to a cave no one else in their right mind would ever go a hundred feet towards. Besides, the only other person who had charted this place would be his caretaker and she wasn’t likely to leave anything of that caliber for him. She had always been the kind of teacher that preferred her pupil to learn for himself, leaving him to often wonder how he ever learned to speak or walk as an infant.

            What awaited him in the room north of the Keese and Like-Likes were creatures that somewhat resembled ropes, aptly named Ropes. Eight of them in total, one of them landing a lucky bite into his shoulder. When they were all dealt with he retrieved a vial from his sack and drank it, pouring a little bit of it on his wound as well, giving him the strength he needed to ignore the pain for the time being. It stung about as much as one would expect but he could attend to it after the test was over.

            And so it went as he pressed further and further into the caves. Fighting monster after monster, testing room after room, backtracking when one room wielded no results, his anger growing whenever he realized some of the monsters had come back and even more when a horrifying giant hand appeared out of nowhere and took him right back to the beginning of the caves. A tedious process if there ever was one, and one that his caretaker had said every adventurer worth their salt had been through. Perhaps they had gained something from it but he felt nothing but exhaustion and exasperation from the whole thing. Maybe he was too young to really appreciate or understand the appeal.

            It was when he had returned to a room near the beginning of the caves that some progress was finally made. In the center were two dragon head statues he’d lit before, their flames dying out as quickly as the one in his lantern. He brought the wick of the candle to the flames lit in the dragons’ mouths which bought him a little more time but he wagered he had little more than ten minutes before the light went out completely. He didn’t understand what the point of this room was, especially when every other room he’d been in at least had a monster or something he could blow up with a bomb or hit with an arrow. His caretaker wasn’t the kind of teacher to leave empty space like this, everything she did had a point to it.

            He positioned his sack so that it rested on his stomach and leaned his back against one of the statues, thinking back to some of his previous training and what she might say to him were she here now.

            “No time for breaks,” would probably be the first thing, to which he would respond;

            “I need a minute!”

            “The enemy will not give it to you.”

            “What enemy, there’s nothing here!”

            “One should never look at things-”

            “The way they are,” he finished, “I know, I know.”

            “It is also unwise to interrupt me when I speak.” Her voice was stern. It was the type of voice that could never be bartered with and always got what it wanted. What it demanded most of all was respect, and that he always gave.

            “I’m sorry.” He said in a hushed voice, remembering he wasn’t actually having a conversation with anybody corporeal. He was still in the dimly lit room and there was still nothing but the two statues in the center of it.

            Suddenly he felt himself nudging backwards a little bit. He took a step away from the statue and realized that he had pushed it ever so slightly forward.

            “Never look at things the way they are…” He repeated. Putting his sack behind him he took the statue with both hands and pushed with all his might. It moved, not without a lot of effort, and revealed a set of stairs leading down a dark passageway.

            “Ha,” he wiped some sweat off his face, “how do you like that?” The image of his caretaker standing over him with her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised to its peak was fresh in his mind.

            “Mediocre.” He frowned at her response.

 

            The darkness he had encountered when he first came into the caves was nothing compared to the darkness in the passageway. The light from his lantern didn’t seem to even illuminate anything, just his feet treading across the ground, which proved invaluable as he couldn’t tell where he was supposed to be stepping to. He hit a cave wall more times than he could count and almost tripped several times before he decided it was better suited to mind his feet. At least then he could tell which way the passage turned.

            From above him he could hear distant noises. Some that resembled the screeching of Keese or the rattling bones of a Stalfos, and others he could not recognize at all. They were soft noises, no louder than a whisper, but he could swear he heard them. Far above the piles of rock that were the only things keeping the whole thing from crashing down on him, he could hear them talking among themselves. There was even a fleeting moment of paranoia when he was certain he had heard one whisper into his ear.

            He was relieved when he had found another set of stairs, though the thought did occur to him that they might have been the stairs he had originally descended. Praying that it wasn’t he made his way up, relieved once more to find this was not the case. It was another empty room, with only one door right in front of him as he reached the top of the stairs. He was so relieved to be out of the darkness that he did not take a moment to fully survey the room around him. And this was a mistake that cost him his life…

            Nearly.

            He jumped out of the way just in time before two huge circular blades crashed into one another, separating and returning to their corners of the room. He caught his breath as he cursed himself for his eagerness.

            “Only fools march blindly into an unknown environment.” His caretaker would say. And of course she would take that lesson and use it to the ultimate extreme here. He would have to time it exactly so that he wasn’t crushed or missing an arm or leg by the time he got into the next room. He crept closer to the door and held out his arm so that it was almost touching it. As expected the blades came speeding towards him, giving him only a split second to move out of the way before he would have to become left-handed. When the blades began to part he held out his arm again, but they did not react. This small window was all he needed as he sped through the door and into the next room, where two lit torches and a treasure chest between them waited.

            He paused to search the room as best he could but saw nothing. No monsters, no traps, nothing but the chest practically begging for him to open it. He did just that as he cautiously went across the room and to the unlocked treasure chest. With all the keys the monsters had dropped he was surprised he wouldn’t have to fight any of them to find the key to this chest but it wasn’t important. He opened the lid just enough to peer inside, his face frozen with anticipation. He threw the lid open all the way and nearly fell into the chest as he reached inside, feeling two thin metallic objects at the bottom of it. His mind raced at what the objects his caretaker had left for him to find. Was it a magical cane that shot projectiles at his foes, or a boomerang able to hit multiple enemies and stun them, a sort of grappling hook that could take hold of almost any surface and propel him to heights he could never even dream? His smile was ear to ear as he leaned out of the chest and held his item to the sky miles above him. He was now the proud owner of …

            “A whistle?” His smile died as fast as his excitement had. He looked back into the chest and at the silver whistle in his hand. “That’s it, just a whistle?” He looked into the chest again and saw the other object he had felt, a large key. At least that could be useful but there was still the question as to why she had bothered to leave a whistle behind for him. Unless she had dropped it by accident, it was fairly uncommon to find more than one object in these rather spacious chests. Either way he shook his head as he stuffed the whistle and the big key into his sack before going back the way he came, through the door, narrowly avoiding the spikes again, and back down the steps.

            He had come across a larger door than the others with a specific kind of lock on it a few rooms back, somewhere after he’d encountered all the Ropes. Sure enough as he exited the dark passage and went through the room where the Zols had regenerated, and through the room where he had fought the Keese and Like-Likes, and taken a right turn from where one of the Ropes had bitten him, he found it. The large door about as inviting as a giant monster with its jaw unhinged coming towards you. He knew that whatever was in there would be the final part of his test, and that his caretaker wasn’t the type to slouch near the end. He took hold of the scimitar’s pommel with his right hand and gave it a tight squeeze, reaching back with his left to run his fingers along the string. He was strong, he was clever, and he was ready, his journey through the caves was enough to convince him of that. Releasing his hold on both his weapons he took the big key and placed it into the equally large keyhole of the lock. He turned the key a quarter to the left and let it fall from the door when it was unlocked. After another minute of collecting his thoughts and calming his mind, he stepped through the door and into the darkness. Just as the light in his lantern had gone out.

           

            By the time he had realized his lantern had been extinguished the door behind was already shut tight. He banged on it with all his might but to no avail, only drawing a terrible noise somewhere within the dark room. He turned back around and listened for the noise again, hearing nothing in response. He drew his sword, not even able to see it through the darkness. If he couldn’t feel his feet touching the ground he could swear he were flying in a never ending pit. His heart was pounding against his chest, eager to rip itself through his bones and escape this terrible place. In his wildest imaginations escape seemed impossible, yet they didn’t seem so wild from where he was standing now.

            The noise came again, and with it a terrible wave of anxiety that shot through his entire body. If he could not find a source of light soon he would surely perish. He didn’t have to. For there, in the middle of the room, a bright, circular light had fixed itself on him, and he was knocked to the floor before he had time to react. He grimaced as he held his stomach. Whatever hit him had made a horrible gash on it, but there was no time to look over it properly. The creature was upon him again and this time he had a better look at it, making him wish he didn’t.

            It was an eye. Not the eye of a human, though it resembled something human-like in a way, and certainly not the eye of any other creature he had seen, just an eye. An eye that didn’t appear to belong to anything. It was a pale green color along the iris, a strange shape in its pupil was colored the same. Its body, if one could call it that in favor of eyelid, was a paler brown, with spikes under and above the cornea. The worst thing about it to him, even worse than the fact that it was just an eye, was the fact that it moved about on tiny little legs. Black tendrils that seemed to blend into the darkness, giving the creature the appearance that it was hovering. And now it was hovering straight towards him, spinning in a rapid motion that made him queasy just to look at.

            He rolled out of the way in time, bumping his knee into another dragon head statue in the corner of the room. He grit his teeth but saved his words for the true pain that was about to befall him. For as he rubbed his bruised knee and still felt the sting of the cut the creature had made into his stomach, if he remained directly in front of the statue’s mouth a moment longer, his face would surely be a blob on the floor.

            He practically beat his own hair after the fireball had just singed his head. Rolling out of the way as another one came from across the room. Two, three, and finally four of the dragon heads were spitting fireballs at him, on top of the eye that continued to speed across the room at an alarming pace.

            “Is she trying to kill me?!” The fireball aimed at his heart was probably some sign of confirmation but he didn’t read into it.

            Now on top of the eye he had four previously inanimate statues to contend with, and standing still was just as lethal as they were. So he moved, ran laps around the room as he watched the eye scuttle about on its tendrils, the pupil never seeming to lose track of him even for all the spinning. At the very least the fireballs did their part to brighten up the room, just enough for him to make out his surroundings. The eye was easier to keep track of as well, and now he had to discern the best way to defeat it. His caretaker had said the quickest way to beating an enemy was to find its weak spot, and seeing as how the monster was one giant eyeball the weak spot was easy enough to determine.

            Landing a direct hit with the sword seemed impossible at the rate it was going, and the fireballs spat from the statues phased right through it, leaving only his bow and arrow to do the dirty work. He plucked the bow from his sack and three arrows from the quiver faster than he’d ever done before, drawing one now and lining up a shot with the eye. It was more difficult than expected given the creature’s apparent vendetta against all stationary disposition. This would be solved with another lesson he’d learned long ago.

            When he was younger and first learning to use a bow he’d been tasked with catching a bird for his and his caretaker’s lunch. An easy enough task, or so it seemed before he’d gone through about ninety-nine arrows trying to get it.

            “It’s impossible!” He remembered saying, and remembered how he threw the bow on the ground for dramatic effect. His caretaker didn’t share his pessimism.

            “Try again.”

            “I’ve been trying for the whole afternoon!”

            “And you will continue to try throughout the night if you must.”

            “That’d make it even harder!”

            “Then shoot the bird now.”

            “GRRRR!” She always compared his grumbling to the purrs of a kitten and it made him just as angry then. But he did try again, and again, and again, and for a good while more until he was ready to give up entirely. It was then that his caretaker had decided a more hands on approach. Standing behind him without a word and helping him hold the bow with a bit more firmness in his grip.

            “Don’t shoot where the bird is,” she had whispered in his ear, “but where it will be.” She released her grip after that, returning to her original post and repeating what she had said the entire afternoon. “Try again.”

            That had been a good lunch, he’d felt. Owing more to her cooking than to the fact that he had finally shot it but he liked to believe that helped make it sweeter in some way. And it was this knowledge that had made this experience all the more sour.

            For when he lined up a shot and determined where the creature was going to be he released the bow that flew towards its target. True and valiant in the darkness, unfazed by a narrow miss from a fireball, nearing the pupil of the monster until…

            The arrow shattered on impact, the wood scattering into a thousand pieces in the air as the arrowhead embedded itself into the wall. He was too stunned to even speak. The creature was moving so fast he did not expect for it to have time to swat one of its tendrils at any of his arrows. He did what his caretaker would have told him to do and tried again, releasing the two arrows he’d kept at hand in almost rapid succession, thinking that it would not be fast enough to deflect two. He was wrong.

            “Why isn’t it working?!” He was wrong about this as well. It had done one thing against the creature, and that was to make it more aggressive than it already was.

            The eye charged at him once more, the strange shape in its pupil even more sinister as it did. He was able to roll out of harm’s way but his sack was not as lucky. At the end of his roll he was flung face first to the floor. A stray fireball landing what would have been a fatal blow on his back were it not for the enormity of his sack absorbing most of it. It was not fortunate enough to escape combustion and the boy had to quickly pat it down to douse it. Several of its contents were lain about the ground and it was there that he found what might be his unexpected solution. Next to an old drawing of him and his caretaker, and next to a bit of carrot he’d been saving as a snack a few weeks back, he saw it. A shining silver object no bigger than his thumb.

            “The whistle.”

            He put the scattered objects back in his sack but held tight the whistle in his grasp, avoiding another rush from the monster and several more fireballs from the statues. He licked his lips as his eyes shifted from the monster to the whistle. He wasn’t sure how it was supposed to help but as the eye rounded back for another charge he would try anything. He took a deep breath and blew into the whistle as loud as he could.

            It was an oddly harmonious sound at the same time as being incredibly high pitched. Almost as if it were a harp condensed into one long shrieking note. Whatever it was it did the trick, the eye was frozen dead in its tracks its pupil dilated and horrible veins along the cornea pulsed the longer and higher the pitch resounded across the room. Even the statues ceased fire at the sound of it. His lips parted from his salvation when he could see the creature visibly writhing in pain. Hear the horrible noises that he previously thought could only be made with a mouth. The creature cried out and with one final, ungodly roar, it vanished into a puff of smoke…

            Leaving three more in its place.

            “You cannot be serious…” He would find that the eyes were serious to a fault, and that dodging three at a time was far worse than dodging four statues shooting fire at him (which they continued to do to add insult to injury).

            He blew on the whistle again, dismayed to find that it had about as much effect as he thought it would the first time. The eyes charged him, one after another, making him break into a furious set of rolls until it felt his legs would split in twine. The creatures were moving faster now and colliding against each other and the walls, too fast for him to keep track of effectively. Their speed got the better of him and one of them threw him against a wall, his sack once again shielding him from what could have been a horrible blow to the back of the head. He lay there for a moment trying to regain his strength. It would not return fast enough as another eye headed directly for him. There was nothing else he could do, he pulled out his sword and held it out in front of him. Closing his eyes and bracing for another horrible blow that would surely be the end of him. The eye closed in the distance between them, the black tendrils lashing out for a final strike, and the final blow had been struck.

            The eye howled in pain as the sword was buried deep into its pupil. A horrible mixture of blood and aqueous humor pouring out from it. The boy seized the sword and struggled to pull it from the eye. He thought he might vomit from the way the tendrils flayed, the liquid drenching his sword with its horrible bile, until at last the sword was parted from the eye and the creature disappeared into dust.

            He had no time to celebrate. Soon the other eyes were upon him, but they held no terror now. He held the sword as best he could, rearing it back just as one of them neared him and felled the beast with one mighty swoop. A clean cut across the pupil left only one in the room. The fireballs still shot from the statues’ mouths and the final eye never lost its vim and vigor. Not as the boy turned the tables and charged at it, and not as he leapt into the air above it, bringing his sword down and burying it into the final eye. Enduring the liquid and blood that had shot out of it like a fountain long enough until it vanished from existence.

 

            He was a mess. Blood and strange liquids staining his clothes and sword, not an inch of him safe from those vile creatures’ wastes. And for what felt like the first time in an hour, he breathed. Deep breaths, ones that pained his chest to take, the kind that reassured him he was still alive. He sheathed his sword and pocketed the whistle he forgot he was still holding onto for dear life. He had done it. The creatures were destroyed and even the statues had ceased their incessant firing. The finisher was seeing the other door at the far side of the room open. He could swear he almost heard music playing as it did.

            He might cry, the kind of tears one can only shed when something of great value has been accomplished. When one has endured the greatest of trials and come out on top, witnessing your magnum opus in all its glory. He would cry, if he didn’t want to look even more of a mess in front of his caretaker, so no tears were shed at this time. All he did was step forward towards the open door, letting it shut itself as he entered through it.

            And there in the center of the room was his prize. Light from the sky above shone down on its beautiful golden glow. A collection of three figures, each as beautiful as the next, one resting on two to form a sort of pyramid. He recognized the symbol from the stories he had been told his entire life. The story of the Hero of Time, of the Seven Sages, and of the dark wizard who would stop at nothing to seize this object’s power.

            He sheathed his sword and approached the object with reverence. Awestruck at the splendor it protruded through the room. If he had had this object he could have seen the caves behind him as clear as any day where the sun was high and not a cloud stood to impede it. It was a half conscious decision to stretch out his arms as he approached it. He knew the legends of what would happen when a person touched it, but that was not the reason why. He could not think of a reason why. Perhaps it was due to the sheer disbelief that he had come this far, or the disbelief in his own abilities. Or maybe it was the disbelief that this object was even in the same room with him. And this was what turned out to be the correct assumption.

            “Stop!” A familiar voice shouted, and this time he did not imagine it. From the corner of the room his caretaker stepped into view. A stunning vision by anyone’s standards who wore dark purple garments that only exposed her navel (as was custom wear for her people). Her long scarlet hair tied into a very long ponytail that stretched to her ankles. She carried a long scimitar (the twin of the sword he carried with him) on her back and bore a permanent scowl on her face. Both of them deadly, though he had long since decided he would rather take the sword.

            “What do you see?” She asked him. The boy looked at his caretaker and then at the golden object still shimmering in the light.

            “The Triforce.” He answered. Her eyes stayed locked on him.

            “Which one?”

            “All of them.” He could not tell if this made her angry or pleased. Her face had always been unreadable.

            “What would you wish for?” He paused, reflecting on this question. There were a great many things he could wish for. He could wish for anything he himself desired, he could wish for an end to any or all conflicts in the world. He could wish for his caretaker to smile at him more often or for the chance that he would never have to go through the trial that he endured in the cave ever again. They were all things he could wish for, selfish and unconditional alike, but none of them, he felt, would be the answer to satisfy her. Nor him.

            “I don’t know.” He said. He looked at her for some sort of feedback but her face remained stolid. Only giving a brief nod before clapping her hands. The image of the room faded and the Triforce’s glimmer peeled away to reveal three small shrubs. An illusion. The last part of his long, grueling test.

            When the magic had faded away all that remained was himself, his caretaker, the fake pieces of the Triforce, and the light that had once shone on the Triforce now revealed to merely be the light shining from the exit to the caves.

            “So how did I do?” He asked almost immediately.

            “Not now.” She held her hand out and led the way towards the light.

            “Why not now?” He whined.

            “Patience.” She said as she continued to leave.

            “You’ve never waited to tell me what I did wrong before!”

            “I won’t tell you again,” She stopped near the mouth of the cave and turned her head back just enough so she could see him out of the corner of her eye. “Patience.”

            “But Fae, I-”

            “Quiet!” She held up her hand again, it felt like an arrow piercing his stomach.

            “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to-”

            “Quiet!” She repeated, and now he understood why. He could hear it too, a rustling in the trees nearby. She gestured forward and the two ducked behind the nearest bushes, crouching along without even disturbing the figs. They were quite adapt at sneaking, their people, and in his eyes she had probably been the best of them all (though bias may have played into that a bit). When Faera wanted to remain hidden you would sooner hear the sound of a worm crawling across the dirt than a floorboard creak when she stepped on it. He was not quite as skilled.

            She had to silently scold him for each bush he disturbed, as the two of them tried to find out where the noise was coming from. Be it man or beast they never took chances, they couldn’t afford to out in the Wilds. They waited in silence for a few minutes more, listening as the sound grew quitter and quitter, until there was no trace of it at all.

            “What was it?” He whispered.

            “Whatever it was,” she stood, “it’s gone now.” She was about as tall as two and a half of him and sometimes it amazed him at how tall their people could grow. He wondered if he’d ever be as tall as her, even when he grew up.

            “Now about how I did back in the cave, do you think that-” Faera spun around with her sword at the ready, pointing it directly at the chest of a man dressed in a dark blue cloak.

 

            “Woah…” The man held out his arms in an act of surrender, “I guess this means you’re not happy to see me?” Faera sneered as she put away her sword, while the boy’s face sported a smile it had not made in months.

            “Loga!” He ran to the man who knelt to meet the boy’s level.

            “There’s my Kit!” The man named Loga laughed as the boy named Kit embraced him (trying his best to ignore the smell as he did). His true name was Kitorit, one of two male Gerudo in the entire world, and the rightful king of his and Faera’s people. But everyone he knew (all two of them present and accounted for) had referred to him as just “Kit,” and so that was the name he preferred.

            “What did you bring for me this time?” Loga held up a finger and reached into the satchel he always kept on his person. Digging deep into its seemingly endless resources until he pulled up a strange object.

            “What is that…?” Kit asked, transfixed into the eyes of the strange object Loga had brought for him.

            “It’s a mask,” he explained as he put it over his face. “Can you tell me what it’s based on?” Kit had never seen the face Loga wore over his more familiar one. It was rounder, browner but not quite the shade of brown of his and Fae’s skin. Its eyes were a deep blue, almost resembling the color Loga wore and there was a little white strand near the top center of it. Kit had to give up which gave Loga one of his signature chuckles.

            “It’s a Goron!” He exclaimed. “Mighty creatures who reside atop Death Mountain.” Kit nodded his head.

            “I remember,” he said recalling the stories of how one of the Goron helped save the world with the Hero of Time, “I’ve just never seen one before.”

            “Well you have now. The novelty version anyway.” Loga shrugged as he handed the mask to Kit, who graciously accepted it and put it in a special place in his pack where he normally kept Loga’s presents from the Golden Land.

            “Kit,” Faera interrupted their reunion, “Go attend to your wounds.” Kit had almost forgotten the wounds he’d sustained from the various creatures back in those caves. Almost as he’d forgotten how horribly drenched he still was. “And take a bath as well.”

            “Oh but Fae…” His caretaker shot him a trademark look and was about to scold him again when Loga beat her to the punch.

            “Go ahead little killer,” he said, “You look like a Dodongo ate you and spat you back out.”

            “And you look like a Gohma saw you coming and ran the other way.”

            “Aha, round one to you good sir.” He bowed. Kit laughed as Loga gestured him away with a friendly wave, breaking off into a run towards the direction of their camp. “Oh and Kit!” He slowed down enough to hear Loga’s call. “Happy birthday!”


	3. Tales by the Fire

The Rope bite on his shoulder stung as he poured water on it, as did the bruise on his knee and the gash on his stomach and the many other cuts and bruises he’d sustained in the past hour. Most of those wounds would probably never fully heal, as several other scars he’d gained over the years would prove, but it didn’t bother him. He had seen plenty of Faera’s scars whenever she bathed with him and she had always said that they were badges of courage, each one telling a different story of bravery and glory that one should never be ashamed of.

            And so, even as his whole body ached the more he washed himself in the small pond a short walk from their camp, he beamed with pride as he counted all the new scars he could add to his collection of stories. Not that the actual experience behind most of these scars, new and old, was very pleasant, but it gave him a certain pride in his body that he might not have otherwise. He was a living breathing story that only a few people would ever have the privilege of knowing fully.

            The sun was beginning to decline as he lingered longer and longer in the pond. Faera would have his hide if she knew it was taking him this long to wash. She always said that baths should be quick and to the point, especially when one was forced to take them out in the open like he was now, but he couldn’t help it. He reveled in the cool water and the serene silence of the pond after a brutal day of training, not even his wounds’ fresh sting could take him away from how at peace he felt.

            But alas, all things had to come to an end and royals had to draw themselves away from their baths. The dusk air set out to betray him as he stepped out of the pond, a chill running through his naked body as he ran for his towel. After a thorough rub down he donned his regular garments, hung out to dry after he’d washed them in the pond as well. A simple cream colored tunic with darker brown pants, colors he’d worn since he was a child (or more fittingly a _younger_ child) and colors that seemed to suit him. They still stank of whatever those creatures were but at least the slime and blood were no longer present.  His skin, were it the shade of Faera’s, might blend entirely with the tunic but he had always had a slightly lighter shade than her, probably owing to his mixed heritage. His red hair, when he let it grow, would be a wild mop on the top of his head to which Faera had always objected. He remembered when he was around the age of seven and Faera had made clear her intention to remove that mop from his head.

            “Whether you want it done as you are awake or when you are asleep,” she had said with a short knife in her hand, “I’m cutting that hair.”

            “I won’t let you!” He had said that in a higher pitch than he had now.

            “Kit, I warn you.”

            “I don’t need to cut it!”

            “Kit…”

            “I don’t want to!”

            “Kit…”

            “I don’t have to!”

            “As long as I am your caretaker you will do as I say.” And this was when something had clicked in him.

            “And as long as I am your _king_ you must do as _I_ say!” It was the first time he could remember Faera being stunned into silence. It was also the first and only time he had pulled the k-word against her. For a while it seemed to work, Faera had put away her knife almost as soon as he had said this and wouldn’t even look at his hair for weeks on end. Soon it began to get messy and longer than even he was used to. And through all their training and sparring it would only take Faera a simple, dirty trick to distract the young sovereign.

            “Fae! Stop messing with my hair!” He had said after the 700th time Faera had pulled his hair over his eyes.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said as she gave it a tug.

            “OW, stop it!”

            “If you think an enemy is going to spare your locks when they hang so easily over your thick little head,” He still felt a twinge in his bottom every time he recalled her leg sweeping under his and tripping him, and the look on her face when she had her sword to his neck right after he fell. “You’re mistaken.”

            It was an hour after that training session that Kit had received his first of many haircuts. It tended to grow a bit faster than usual but every time it passed even an inch lower than his eyebrows he would be sitting anxiously on a rock or tree stump as Faera went to work on it.

            It was shorter now, cut only a few weeks ago and with only a few tufts falling over his eyes from time to time despite his efforts, as he retraced his steps back to their camp. The chill of the air still gnawing at him as he felt an all too familiar gurgle in his stomach. He didn’t know how long he had been in those caves but it had certainly done wonders to work up an appetite. He thought of all the foods Loga usually prepared when he came to visit. Great culinary dishes (as he called them) straight from the Golden Land. Juicy veal served with a strange sort of grape juice Loga mixed in that Faera was very cross over when she found out. Or perhaps a smoking fish served with butter over a hot fire as he told any matter of stories. Exploits of his own life or the exploits of other heroes, including the hero that left all other heroes names behind in the annals of time. One could expect no less from the Hero of Time himself.

            His name had been long forgotten too, it was unavoidable when very few (including himself) spoke of it to begin with, but his legacy had certainly not been forgotten. In the Golden Land the people revered the Hero of Time as though he were a God sent from on high. His journey and many triumphs over the darkness had been a source for many bedtime stories for children across the world, even out here in the Wilds where there were no other children within a hundred miles of any direction. A favorite part of any birthday or any regular day when Loga came to visit was when he would regale him in another story about the hero, until he would drift off to sleep and the promise of more body ache the next day. And it was on this birthday that Kit had become twelve years old, the same age when the Hero of Time had disembarked on the greatest adventure of a thousand lifetimes.

            At least that was what Loga said his age was. In truth it was unclear to the people telling the story just how old the hero really was. Some versions of the story said he was nine years old when he started out, and others (presumably the ones told by concerned mothers to their impressionable youngsters) that he was sixteen. Some aged him twice that number or both numbers combined, while others believed him to be an ageless spirit sent by the Golden Goddesses to right the wrongs of their world. There were even some who entertained the notion that the Hero of Time was none other than the equally as legendary Princess Zelda herself. As one can imagine this telling and retelling of the story had caused some key details to become muddled or lost altogether, but the basics remained and the hero had been twelve at some point in his life so what did it matter?

            All of these memories ran in Kit’s mind as he ran to the camp. Eager to reconnect with Loga and dine on something other than sparrow or Octorock or whatever Faera caught that was at least half edible.

            “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Kit stopped running when he heard Loga’s voice a little ways ahead, and the smell of something delicious cooking over a fire. “I’d almost call you insane if I knew I could get away with it.”

            “I fail to understand your concern.” Fae said, their voices becoming clearer as Kit hid behind a nearby bush.

            “All those monsters? Together in that cave? And Gods know where you got that… thing near the very end.”

            “I have my ways.”

            “And I don’t care to know them.” Loga shuddered. He sat on a log as he made eggs in a pan while a huge piece of cucco roasted on a spit over the campfire. It was hard for Kit to pay attention to them as his mouth could only anticipate the flavor. “What I do care about is the boy’s safety.”

            “If I believed he wasn’t ready to face such a test I wouldn’t have given it to him.” Fae’s back was turned to Loga as she looked out into the forest. She often would speak this way whenever she was looking out for something. Not really something in particular, just anything at all.

            “And you were watching him, the whole time?”

            “If I were it wouldn’t be a test then.” Loga scoffed, reaching out one arm to rotate the cucco as the other arm cracked another egg shell on the side of the pan. “You’ve stalled long enough.” Faera was slow as she took a seat by the fire, her eyes still surveying the area at large. Kit barely had time to duck out of view when he was certain she was looking his way.

            “What’s there to tell?” Loga asked as he took the cucco off the spit and pulled a leg off for himself. “Two kings in a fight to the death over one sodding kingdom,” he took an enormous bite of the leg and talked as he chewed, “Princessh misshing, peepuhl shcared owt of their minds,” he gulped, “Moblins patrolling the borders and Bokoblins in the field up to Gods know what kind of mischief.”

            “And what is the current state of the war?” Fae’s voice was somehow urgent while keeping her composure. Loga sighed as he spoke to his drumstick.

            “Not good. King Daphnes has become more focused in securing the last few safeguards of the castle and Castle City. And that spawn of a Moldorm has begun moving his naval forces across the lake.” Faera’s stolid face fell to a frown.

            “The lake?” Loga nodded, removing the pan from over the fire.

            “He’s already seized total control of the desert.” He broke off a stick from the log and drew a series of lines in the dirt. Kit couldn’t make them out from where he was hiding but he could guess that they were meant to resemble the borders of the Golden Land. “And neither side has even bothered to try retaking Kakariko village.” He paused in his map making to laugh. “War, I call it. More like a one-sided cock fight.”

            “Go on.” He went on.

            “The King’s navy has been able to keep him at bay along the border of the lake, separating the Wilds from the kingdom.” He drew a long line close to Faera’s feet. “Until recently we believed them to be impregnable.”

            “What changed?” Loga’s face looked older as he snuffed the line away, a dour and grim shadow of the man who had greeted him an hour ago reflected on the face illuminated by the flickering fire.

            “Daphnes withdrew his finest Frigate from the fleet. Without it the rest of them were easily overpowered. The dam separating the lake from the sea was destroyed and the rest is history.” He gestured at the smeared line.

            “And what of the other borders?”

            “He has yet to lead a successful venture against the forest,” Loga said to what Kit could only imagine from her sigh, Faera’s relief. “But the Zoras are under heavy attack with no help from Daphnes.”

            “Will they not accept it?”

            “He won’t give it.” Loga spat in the fire. Kit had always wanted to learn how to spit effectively, but Loga always left before he could and Faera would sooner have him find a switch and bring it to her before teaching him something “useless” as that. “He’s even too blind to see what’s happening underneath the tip of his nose.”

            “Problems in the town?”

            “A flamboyant charlatan,” Kit heard a grunt as he said this, “going on and on about salvation from the Golden Goddesses, death and doomsday, the usual boring show and dance that everyone always seems so eager to applaud.”

            “Sheep flock to the shepherd whose presence is most known.” Loga laughed.

            “You took the words right out of my mouth.” He took another bite of his drumstick to compensate for this theft. “Anyway, he’sh jusht a lowdmowth Rope oil shalshemen in fanshy clothes. Nothing to worry about.”

            “An oaf with power is more dangerous than most.” Loga offered her a piece of cucco which she accepted. “I have much to think about.”

            “You can think about it later. Come on, eat already.”

            “More stalling…” Kit didn’t need to see Loga’s face to imagine how he looked. Anytime Fae had caught him in something she had always spoken to him in that tone of voice. Not quite sing-song but close enough to be mistaken for her reciting poetry. She had a lovely voice for it, if only it weren’t used against him so vehemently.

            “I’ve still had no word from any Gerudo. Not for almost a year now.” Kit saw Faera’s shoulders drop and her head reel backwards a bit.

            “No one from the resistance?” Loga shook his head.

            “Not one. I’m sorry…” Kit waited for them to keep talking but the two merely ate in silence. He gave it another minute in the bush before he joined them. Loga’s dour face perking into a smile as if on cue.

            “Kit! Come, sit by me.” He patted at an empty space on the log next to him and offered a drumstick and the eggs to the birthday child. “The eggs may be a bit overcooked but they’ll probably still taste fine.” Kit didn’t mind overcooked eggs or that the cucco tasted a little dry, it still tasted like a wish even better than the Triforce could grant.

            “So little man, what have you been up to since last we met?”

            “Same old stuff,” Kit said with a shrug. “Shoot this, lift that, sword fighting, strategies and tactics.”

            “Well at least you’re learning.” Loga tore off another leg from the cucco and bit into it, spraying some of the juice on Kit’s face. He didn’t mind, it tasted delicious.

            “But what about you Loga?” Kit asked.

            “What about me?” He spoke into his drumstick, playing the same games he always did whenever he and Kit were together again.

            “What have _you_ been up to since last we met?” Loga shook his head with a ludic grin.

            “Where should I start?” The young Gerudo thought about this, and about the stories he had been told the last time he saw Loga. One in particular stuck out like a sore Gohma.

            “You never finished that story about the little people you found up in the mountains.” Loga nodded as he put aside his drumstick for the time being.

            “Well first, if you recall, _I_ didn’t actually find them. It was some child near Kakariko who claimed to have seen some.”

            “Oh, right, right, I remember.”

            “It’s a common trick they use, fairies or whatever they were, since children are generally pure hearted and less likely to be believed by adults they don’t really care if they can see them.”

            “I know, I know, but did you find them?”

            “Not exactly. There were old folktales about it though. Back before even the Hero of Time when the kingdom was still relatively new.”

            He and Loga spoke to one another about these folktales and of the Hero of Time as Faera ate and listened. She did not interrupt whenever she felt Loga was exaggerating the story (such as when he started talking of a hat that granted magical wishes) and Kit had noticed she hadn’t even chastised him for obviously staying in his bath longer than he should have. All she did was sit still, staring into the flames dancing and sputtering into the air. Kit would look at her from the corner of his eye and wonder what Loga had meant about other Gerudo, but went about like he had heard nothing.

            “So after all that I ended up with a broken bow, three fractured ribs and a scar that still swells up every now and then.”

            “And you still got away with it?”

            “By the time he figured it out I was halfway to the border with his daughter in the passenger seat and his wife weeping at my departure.”

            “Wow.” Kit said. How else could one respond to such a story?

            “But the lesson you should take away from that, Kit, is that you should never leave a Bauble in the same room as a-”

            “I’ve come to a decision.” They were almost shocked when Faera finally spoke again. “Are all your things packed and ready Kit?”

            “Of course.” The young Gerudo clutched at his sack, knowing full well what was coming.

            “Good, we leave tomorrow. Loga, there’s a ranch a few miles north from here, I want you to secure two ponies for Kit and I. One for yourself if you so desire.” Loga nodded as he took a sip of the mysterious dark beverage that had a smoky aftertaste Kit didn’t care for, while the boy was left in the darkness.

            “Horses?”

            “No, ponies. There’s a bit of a difference.” Loga smirked at his own joke.

            “We never take ponies.” Faera stretched as she stood.

            “We’re going on a long journey tomorrow. We’ll need more than just our own feet.”

            “Hold on,” Now it was Loga who stood, “You don’t mean what I think you mean?”

            “Yes. If what you’ve told me is true, then now is the time.  Go to bed Kit, we rise early tomorrow.” Kit nodded, reaching into his sack to pull out his sleeping bag while Faera brandished her scimitar. It was easy to admire in the fire’s glow. “No more stories tonight either, I want you in bed and you to get those ponies as soon as possible.”

            “Aye, aye captain.” Loga gave a mock salute as he tussled Kit’s hair, wishing him a happy birthday once more before setting off. Kit turned so that he was facing the fire, the warmth reminding him of the water he’d much rather jump back into to end his most unusual birthday.

            “And Kit,” He was forced away from sleep’s sweet embrace a final time as Faera spoke. “Your skills in eavesdropping still leave a lot to be desired.” He felt the cucco and eggs hit his stomach like a brick.

 

            Kit was not sure how many hours had passed when he was shaken from his slumber. The sky was pitch black and the fire had been put out, exposing him to the bitter cold. He folded up his sleeping bag and put it in his sack, joining Faera as she prepared the ponies. The both of them were ancient, in the last leg of their existence, and it almost made him feel guilty to see all the weight they had to carry from their sacks and themselves in just a short while. But from their determined stares and how little their breathing changed with each item added or strap tied, the old equines looked like they were up to the task (either that or their brain was taking a bit longer than usual to tell their bodies they were dead).

            “Where’s Loga?” He asked after passing his hand under one of the pony’s nostrils.

            “He rode on ahead.” Kit frowned. It was not like Loga to leave without saying a proper goodbye.

            “But why?”

            “There was business that needed his addressing.” Faera secured the saddle on one pony and proceeded to the other.

            “Is he going where we’re going?”

            “Our paths may cross again sooner or later.” He hated when she was like this. Avoiding giving him any proper answers, only the bare minimum.

            “Where are we going anyway?” Faera finished tightening the last strap on the second pony’s saddle and hoisted Kit on top of it in a swift motion.

            “We have about an hour before sunrise.” She said. “Let’s make the most of it and get out of the forest long before then.”

            “But where are we going?” Kit repeated. His caretaker looked at him with a strange look he’d never seen from her before. A strange mixture born of anxiety and thoughtfulness that seemed to have been painted onto her face from a sculptor who hadn’t the faintest idea of how to mold his creation. Faera gripped the reins of her pony and set her sights forward when she answered.

            “Hyrule.” And with a click of her tongue and the first gallop of hooves, their journey had begun.


	4. Homecoming

It was well before sunrise when they had reached the edge of the forest, and they had plenty of time to spare by the time they were out in the open of the Wild Lands. The Wild Lands, or just plain the Wilds, was an expansive territory that spread out for miles upon miles, far away from the kingdom of Hyrule. Civilization was sparse, laws were non-existent, and every sort of deadly creature and brigand one could or could not imagine thrived. And for the past twelve years Kit had called it his home.

            Not so much a home as in a permanent place of residency, or even a place he felt remotely comfortable in, but still a home in the loosest terms. Faera had raised him out here for as long as he could remember, training him against every dangerous creature he could fight (and even more he had no hope against). To her it was all second nature, fighting and surviving, and she had made a mastery of it in all this time. But now they were going back, back to the place she always knew she would return but was secretly unprepared to. She was ready, they both were, and she knew it, yet still she could not shake the feeling in her stomach. The feeling that when she returned everything would be in a worse state than when she had left it. In the time it would take for them to get back to the kingdom she wondered if it would even still be standing at all.

            And it took time, a lot of time, before they were even close to reaching the borders of Hyrule. For a fortnight they journeyed, with minimal conversation between the two and minimal breaks save to stop at any sources of water for the ponies to drink and to refill their own supply. Kit was exhausted and tired of sitting on his equine throne. The landscape had all looked the same, a boring collection of mountains and desert as far as the eye could see. An oasis or two to make things interesting but never anything to truly break apart the dull and monotonous scenery. The Gods, if they were up there, had truly gotten lazy when they came to creating this part of the world.

            Days and nights passed in their usual dance across the skies, feeling as slow as honey dripping from a comb on a hot summer’s day. He had never known a boredom so great. He had almost begun to miss the incessant training or even the cave where he fought the eyes. Anything would be preferable to the long ride. He longed for Loga’s stories or jokes to keep him company but only had the memory of some of his favorites. Their charm long since lost to him after years of repetition in his mind.

            “How much farther is it?” He asked near the middle of the thirteenth day.

            “We’ll be approaching the border soon.” It was difficult to hear her at the speed the ponies were going, and because she did not look back at him when she spoke. She was a few feet ahead of him, Kit’s pony wearing itself out and in serious need of rest. Faera’s pony seemed to be slacking as well but if it was it did not want to disappoint its rider. He couldn’t blame it.

            “Maybe we should stop for a minute!” Kit called to her. “My pony looks tired!” He made no mention of how tired he felt as well for how little good it would do.

            “There should be a place to rest not too far ahead.” Faera did not break her stride as she spoke. She seemed to be edging farther and farther away with each second. Kit groaned and urged his pony to pick up the pace. It made a weak whinny as it galloped to meet its brother (or sister, he wasn’t entirely sure).

            “I know,” He pat the poor old pony’s mane, “me too.”

            Faera’s and his definition of “far” must have been two entirely different words and distances because to her, “far” was a good two hours more of riding. The sun was blazing down upon them the deeper they rode into the desert and he could feel the pony struggling with each trot. He was nearing the end of his own strength as he swallowed the last bit of water from his canteen. It was a trial to force down a parched and dry throat, especially for how hot it was. If they didn’t find a rest stop soon he would surely die. He would collapse off his pony and Faera would not notice nor care. She would keep riding into the sunset, or away from the sunset, wherever the Golden Land was, and she would leave his corpse to be picked away by buzzards and for the worms of the desert to burrow into his bones. The sand would bury him and he would forgotten by everyone, mourned by none. Yes, he was to die in this desert. Die from the horrible heat and neglect of the person who was supposed to protect him. How cruel the world truly was.

            “We’re here.” He snapped out of his morbid pity fantasy as Faera slowed her pony to a halt.

            “Where?” Kit rode up to her side, his pony more than happy to stop alongside the other. Faera pointed at a dune a few meters away.

            “Just over that dune there should be an oasis.”

            “How do you know?” Faera raised her eyebrow at him and clicked her tongue, the pony marching up the dune. Kit followed behind, having to give his pony some extra motivation to make the climb. “Come on… just a little further… I hope.”

            He almost lost balance atop the pony several times as they went up the dune. The poor steed’s legs were giving out and the climb along with the burden of carrying him wasn’t doing wonders for it. He decided to lighten the beast’s load and jumped off his saddle, grabbing the reins and leading the pony up the dune. Faera waited at the top, dismounted from her pony as well. She was looking off into the distance at something, something hidden just beyond the top of the dune. As Kit and the pony finally caught up with her he saw what it was.

            “Whoa there, wh…woah…”

 

            Before them stood a mountain, mighty and alone in the vast desert. But far more impressive was what was carved in front of the mountain. A giant statue, resembling a Gerudo. Her arms were resting at her sides, palms outstretched as if expecting to receive something from the sky above. It was enormous, and worn from all its years standing watch over the sands.

            “What… what is it?” Kit asked, feeling the exact moment his jaw hit the ground.

            “The Goddess of the Sands.” Faera answered, her voice low and full of wonder. “I never thought I would see this statue again.”

            “Again?” Kit pulled his eyes away from the statue and onto his caretaker. “You’ve been here before?” Faera met her King’s gaze.

            “It is such an injustice how removed you are from our culture, Kitorit.” Faera led the way again as they went down the dune, heading towards an oasis near the feet of the statue. “Our people revere the Goddess of the Sands,” she said, “We look to her for our strength, for our cunning, and for our safety in the unforgiving desert.”

            “You lived here?” Kit wiped his forehead as the sun still hung high overhead. He could not imagine living in such a horrible heat but Faera seemed to revel in it as she recalled.

            “Not here, no one lived too close in the shadow of the Goddess. But not so far away was our fortress, where we all would convene. It wasn’t exactly a home but it was a place where you could always find other Gerudo. We lived all throughout the sands, keeping small encampments and scavenging off the wastes of the desert. If only you could see it, the Gerudo in their prime. You very well would have if things had been different.”

            Faera became sullen and spoke no more of it, not as they led the ponies to the oasis and when the beasts took their first euphoric drinks of the clean and glistening water. Kit and Faera refilled their canteens, Kit taking several drinks himself as he reflected on what his caretaker had said.

            “My mother,” he broke the silence. “She lived here too?” Faera nodded. Her face still dour as she thought about the past.

            “Of course.” She said simply. Staring into the water and at the sun’s reflection. Kit knew little of his mother. Whenever he asked about her Faera had been more than willing to answer but he did not feel a particularly strong attachment or longing to her. At least, not always.

            “What was she like?” He asked for the first time in ages. Faera looked at him and at the statue of the Goddess. She pointed to it again.

            “There were many who claimed she was a reincarnation of the Goddess.” Before this Kit thought there was no way the statue could be any more intriguing.

            “Really?”

            “Yes.” Faera cupped her hands together and lowered them into the water, splashing some in her face and hair. “Her beauty was unparalleled, gaining a lot of admirers and adversaries among the Gerudo. And plenty of admirers from Hyrule at that.” Like his father, Kit thought. He’d asked about him as infrequently as his mother but Faera was just as infrequent to talk about him. He wasn’t sure why but he did very little to push his caretaker to talk about anything she didn’t want to.

            “What’s Hyrule like?” He asked instead.

            “You’ll know soon enough.”

            “Can’t you give me an idea?”

            “It’s different from the Wilds.”

            “I _knew_ that.”

            “Then you have a pretty good idea what it’s like.”

             “Fae!” Faera cracked a rare smile, and, even more rare, chuckled as Kit nudged her. “I’m serious!”

            “It’s best not to build up your expectations.” She said, her more stoic nature taking over again.

            “It’s called the Golden Land, isn’t it, how can you not?”

            “Who told you that?” Kit winced as his caretaker’s voice lost its friendlier tone.

            “L-Loga. He said he came from the Golden Land.” Faera groaned as she shook her head.

            “That pompous vagabond.”

            “Why, is that wrong?”

            “The ‘Golden Land’ and Hyrule are two entirely different things.” Faera said.

            “They are?” She shook her head again. She supposed this topic would come up eventually but she knew so little about it except the basics.

            “The Golden Land is believed to be the resting place of the Triforce, located in the center of the Sacred Realm.”

            “The Sacred Realm?”

            “Another name for it. It’s a spiritual place believed to exist on some other plane from our physical world.”

            “Oh… what?”

            “It’s a sort of holy land.” She simplified. “Especially to Hylians.”

            “Why?” Faera really wished he would stop asking so many questions.

            “They believe the Sacred Realm is where the Golden Goddesses came down and created Hyrule, along with the Triforce. There are three Goddesses for the three pieces of the Triforce; Din, Goddess of Power, Nayru, Goddess of Wisdom, and Farore, Goddess of Courage.”

            “And when all pieces of the Triforce are together,” Kit said, “whoever touches it can make a wish based on their heart’s desire.”

            “And it was this power that drove the ancient Hylians to do battle among themselves for it.”

            “Another war?” Kit asked.

            “The bloodiest war in Hylian history. Siblings turned against one another, parents slain by their children, all to claim ownership of the Sacred Realm, and to taste even a glimmer of the light the Triforce as a whole created. It is believed that the carnage drove the Goddesses to seal away the Sacred Realm in another dimension, somewhere between light and dark, with the Triforce still inside it.”

            “But the pieces of the Triforce came out anyway.” Kit said, knowing that part of the story already. Faera concurred this, deciding to quiz his knowledge a little bit to entertain him.

“I’m sure you know the Hero of Time wielded the Triforce of Courage?” He nodded.

            “And the Princess had the Triforce of Wisdom.” The young King knew the story all too well. That only left the last piece.

            “And the Triforce of Power, was left in the hands of another. The one who wages war against Hyrule now.” He knew this part of the story too. It was impossible not to know about it given how closely it tied to his own destiny. “I have no doubt he somehow used its power to come back to this world in the first place.” Kit’s heart skipped a beat.

            “You mean… he still has it?” Faera nodded.

            “The Triforce could not be removed from him entirely. Nor could it be removed from the fates of the Hero or the Princess.”

            “But they’re both dead aren’t they? It’s been centuries after all.”

            “Legacies live on, heroes are reborn, yet one thing remains.” Kit felt something in the air that unnerved him. A sudden and unexplainable sensation of coldness. It only grew stronger when Faera spoke his name.

            “Ganondorf.”

 

            They rode on shortly after that, Faera leading them up a mountain ridge overlooking a wide valley where the winds were furious. Unbeknownst to Kit she would also be leading them away from the old fortress near the borders of Hyrule. There were other ways of entering the kingdom and the pain of going near her old home would be too near for her, especially when whoever occupied it now would be no friend of theirs. Kit took this silent reflection as a sign that he may have said something to upset her during their talk about the Sacred Realm and the Triforce. He still could not shake away the story he had been told though, even as the wind sought to shake him off his pony.

            “Do you think it’s true?” He called over the sand, not loud enough to be heard completely.

            “What?” Faera called back.

            “The Goddesses! Do you think they really created Hyrule and the Triforce and all that?!”

            “I know that the Triforce exists.” Faera said. She wasn’t sure she believed that it was created by any Goddesses, but she did know the Triforce had some magical power to it. Simple magic or relating to the Gods she didn’t know. All she knew was that there was a definite Triforce, and she had seen firsthand the terrible might just one piece could unleash.

            There was no more talk of the Triforce or anything relating to it after that. Much of their focus was spent trying to get around the valley, and trying to endure the horrible wind that blew through it.

            “Was it always this windy?!” Kit asked, keeping his questions short and precise to avoid swallowing too much sand.

            “Always around the Haunted Wasteland.” She answered. “It serves its purpose of protecting the temple well.”

            “You mean the statue?” Kit asked.

            “And the temple inside it. Both sacred places very few outside the Gerudo have seen.” Kit tried to look through the sand and steal a glimpse of the Wasteland but the wind really did do its job exceptionally well. Just one look at that gale picking up the mounds of sand would be enough for anyone to turn around and never even look at another desert.

            “Pretty convenient.” He said.

            “Not always.”

            “How do you mean?” Faera tried to shield her eyes as more sand blew in their faces.

            “The wind is a fickle friend to the Gerudo.” She said just as the element was proving her point. “Great storms would blow the sands in every direction, ripping apart camps, burying homes and Gerudo with them, some of the storms would even be powerful enough to rip the flesh straight from the bone.” Kit grasped at his arm as the sandstorm in the wasteland below them became more ominous.

            “As many times as one can use a tool to benefit themselves, so can the same tool be turned against them.” She always seemed to have some metaphor that best fit whatever lesson she was teaching. The best he could manage were very obvious similes.

            “If the wind was so terrible,” Kit yelled just as the wind proved its terribleness, “why didn’t you all move away from the desert?”

            “Because it’s our home.” She needed no longer than a second to answer. “None of us would ever leave, even if given the choice.”

            “You left.” Kit said. Faera’s pony stopped just then, and the Gerudo was motionless atop it. He waited for her to say something, to reprimand him for not knowing when to hold his tongue. He anticipated it, yet all she did was remain still.

            “Fae I-” She silenced him with a raised hand. Her head jerked left to right, her long pony tail colliding against her pony’s tail as she did.

            She motioned him forward with two fingers, urging her pony forward into a slow pace. Kit caught up with her quickly, recognizing the current look on his caretaker’s face. It was the look she made when all of her focus was being spent. Her senses attuned to only one thing in the surrounding area, not even the howling gale breaking her concentration.

            “Up ahead,” he almost didn’t catch what she was saying for how low she whispered. He could only make out one word. “Moblins.”

            “Moblins?” He asked, but Fae was already trotting ahead of him. They took a path that led them down the ridge and to a rocky terrain that proved beneficial to them as they watched a duo of Moblins arguing over a campfire. Kit had never seen Moblins before, and was surprised when he saw what resembled humans wearing pig masks. Giant humans at that.

            “What are Moblins?” He asked, remembering to lower his voice now that the wind was no longer a disturbance.

            “Filthy sub-spawns of Goblins.” Kit had never seen a Goblin either (no one had, as a matter of fact, since what one might call a “true Goblin” had died out in favor of Moblins and Bokoblins and other subspecies of the blin family centuries ago), but if they were anything like the creatures below them he counted himself lucky.

            The Moblins were in deep conversation with each other, or as deep as Moblins could have. What they had in bulk they most certainly lacked in brains, and their deep grunts and bellows they used to communicate with each other made that exceedingly clear.

            “There’s only two,” Kit observed. “We can take them.” Faera was impressed at her King’s eagerness, having never encountered Moblins before and having no frame of reference as to how powerful they could be. Still it was the number they saw that made her cautious.

            “No,” she decided. “Let’s try and make our way around them.” Kit had never known his caretaker to walk away from what seemed to him an easy fight.

            “Are you sure?”

            “Better safe than-GET DOWN!”

            Kit felt the spear pass where his head might have been as it collided with Faera’s sword. Thus the young Gerudo King saw first-hand how Moblins were not to be underestimated. The one towering in front of him was even taller than Faera, its teeth grinding and mouth foaming as it struggled against his caretaker.

            “KIT MOVE!” The young Gerudo did just that as the duel between the Moblin and Faera grew more intense. Their sword and spear colliding against the rocks, the Moblin aiming a punch or a kick at her, Faera’s body moving in an almost dance as they fought. Kit drew his own sword but saw no safe way to enter the fight. Even if he tried to sneak up on the Moblin they were moving too fast for him to get a hit in. It would be the least of their worries at any rate, for below them the two other Moblins had caught wind of the fight and were now running further into the desert.

            “Kit! Take those Moblins out!” Kit nodded and cast aside his sword in favor for his bow. After the incident with the eyes in the cave he’d gotten much more confident in his skills at archery but even if he were a novice it would not prove a taxing feat to strike the fleeing Moblins. Moblins, as was said, are not particularly bright, and as such the thought of not running in a straight line to avoid retribution from the enemy didn’t occur to them. Kit lined up a shot and adjusted the bow for the trajectory against the subtle wind. He released and saw the first bow fly high and true, burying itself in the back of one of the Moblin’s neck.

            The creature vanished into smoke as Kit prepared to repeat his success on the second Moblin. He would have to act fast before it moved too far out of his range and there was no way he could get down the mountain in time to run after it. He drew another arrow and lined up the shot, tilting the bow upwards and a quarter to the left. His finger pulled back on the string as he took a deep breath. Just a few more seconds…

            Kit felt something hard strike him on the back of the head and released his hold on the string. The arrow sped across the sky and buried itself in the sand a few meters to the right of the Moblin below him. He was more concerned, at present, with the one standing over him.

            The Moblin glared at Kit as it held its spear in each hand, bringing the sharp end to his neck as all the boy could do was wait and watch. Saliva fell from the Moblin’s mouth as it hovered over him, its horrible tongue licking up as much of it as it could before a horrid smile fell upon its face. The look in its eye was unlike anything Kit had ever seen. Deranged and mad for blood, it raised its spear high into the air with the intent of drawing some.

            Kit closed his eyes when he heard the Moblin’s horrible battle cry, expecting the spear to pierce his neck or crush his head at any moment. When neither sensation came he opened them to find a scimitar poking out of the creature’s stomach. The Moblin seemed more perplexed at the sudden sword protruding from his body than angry and just as it seemed to realize what had happened, it vanished. The spear fell to the ground with a clatter and Faera was left in its position.

            The Gerudo sighed as she took a rag from her pocket and cleaned the sword, handing its twin back to Kit.

            “Never relinquish hold over any of your weapons.” He agreed and happily took the sword back from her. If having to carry a sword he could barely lift would be the difference between life and death he would gladly carry it anywhere. “What of the other Moblins?”

            “I got-” He rushed to grab his bow and arrow only to find the string had been broken due to the Moblin’s surprise attack. It made no difference as the other Moblin who had been down in the desert was nowhere to be seen.

            “One of them got away.” He hung his head as he gave Faera the bow. “And this one broke it.” Faera took the bow and put it in the sheath where the scimitar she gave to Kit would have been.

            “We can fix it later.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “You did well Kit.”

            “Really?” She gave a solitary chuckle at the impish grin on the boy’s face.

            “Your archery has been improving.” If the other Moblin had escaped without interference from the one she had fought she might not have been so forgiving, but if she hadn’t been caught off guard by it and almost slipped down the mountainside it might not have thrown Kit’s aim off. Either way it put them in a bad position, especially when they were still several miles from the borders of Hyrule.

            “But now we must leave,” she called the ponies back to them, “this was only a sentry party.”

            “A what?”

            “They were put here to look out for anyone passing through the desert. That Moblin will be back, and bring more of his ilk with him.” Kit needed no more incentive to join his caretaker on the ponies and ride with her down the mountainside and across the desert in the opposite direction of where the Moblin had gone. She had been right in saying they had encountered a group of sentries, but had been wrong in assuming more would be coming.

            For the Moblin would not return to its camp as was standard protocol, but instead run further. Further into the desert and back into the Wilds where a larger gathering of Moblins, Bokoblins and a sordid amount of other terrible creatures waited. For if that Moblin’s eyes had not deceived it then it had seen something its master had long been searching for. For twelve long years.

 

            “Here, let me feel it.” Kit gave the bow to Faera. She ran her fingers along the bowstring and pulled back on it, releasing her hold on it and letting the string snap back into place. If she had drawn an actual arrow it might have been an impressive shot.

            “It’ll last.” She gave the bow back to Kit, allowing him to take pride over his work before putting it back in the sack.

            Night had fallen as the two Gerudo were nearing the border of Hyrule. Faera would have pushed them to at least cross it before resting but traveling in the desert at night could be even more dangerous than traveling through the day. Dark creatures always became more active when the sun had gone down. Even in the lesser towns of Hyrule the people always knew better than to let their children play after dark.

            On top of that there was still the threat of the Moblins but they had put enough distance between them to avoid immediate danger. It was still a risk making camp this close to the kingdom, but it was a risk she was willing to take. If it meant Kit could have a good night’s sleep before they reached the castle, she would have to gamble with the odds.

            “So what’s the plan,” Kit asked as he made his sleeping bag, “when we get to Hyrule?”

            “We will seek an audience with the King.”

            “The King?”

            “King Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule.” She recited.

            “Do you know him?” Faera’s blank stare was worth a thousand retorts. “Oh… yeah.” He was silent as he shimmied his way into the sleeping bag. “Why do we have to speak with the King?”

            “We’re going to offer him our services in the war in exchange for information,” She explained, “Battle strategies, enemy encampments, everything the royal guard has on Ganondorf’s movements. We’ll need to be totally prepared if we’re going to face him.”

            “Know thy enemy.” Kit recited one of Faera’s most important rules.

            “Exactly.” She said with a nod. “If the King is knowledgeable about the hierarchy of our people, then it should be easier for them to let us in to talk with him.”

            “Is it so hard to talk with kings?” Kit asked, having no personal experience on the matter despite his own title.

            “Some more than others.” Faera stoked the fire enough to last another hour but not enough that it could be seen from a great distance. “If what Loga tells me is true this king has only had a mind for war as of late, with no concern as to the woes of his people.” Kit avoided her glance.

            “What kind of king do you suppose I could have been?” Faera looked at the boy. A King with so much taken from him, yet doomed to never lead an ordinary life no matter their current circumstances.

            “You are still a king.” He felt a spark of confidence rush through him as he heard her say that. Firm and full of respect, a brief reminder that she was, technically, his subject. “It takes more to make a king than a crown or a fancy chair.” Much as he appreciated her words, he could not shake the anxiety welling inside of him.

            “But what kind of king lives so far away from his people for all his life? What kind of king would have no idea what to even say to another king? What kind of king is afraid of the future? What kind of king leaves his people to suffer, what kind of-”

            “Enough.” Fae put her finger over Kit’s mouth, brushing a bit of hair from his eyes while she was at it. “To be afraid is the mark of a wise leader.”

            “It is?” She gave a single nod of assurance. “Are you afraid?” Faera gave a deep sigh as she ran the rest of her fingers through the boy’s hair.

            “Yes.” She admitted. It was at this moment the young Gerudo King saw another side of his caretaker he had never thought existed. Faera, who had taught him everything in the ways of combat, hunting and everyday life, the one person he always thought had never known fear. As they sat together in the dim light of a dim fire, their titles meant nothing. They were only two souls each as uncertain in themselves and the future as the other.

            Kit took her hand in his and gave it a tight squeeze.

            “We have each other.” He said, giving the Gerudo woman a tiny smile he hoped was reassuring. For the second time that day, Faera chuckled.

            “Yes,” she returned his squeeze, “we do.”

            Kit was fast asleep soon afterwards. Faera doused the fire when she was sure he would not stir, covering the ponies with her blanket. She took Kit’s scimitar from him and a rock she’d picked up from a quarry, sharpening it and her own scimitar as she kept an eye on the horizon. Several times throughout the night she could swear she heard the echo of far away voices, or the peering of nearby eyes, but the King’s sleep remained undeterred. Leaving him with fragments of a memory, and dreams that turned sour.

 

            The desert had never been more beautiful. The sound of palm leaves swaying in the wind and the playful laughter of Gerudo children resounded in the air like a melody no musician could hope to perfect. It was a music that poets fought to strike inside their souls, a song that wayward souls sought to fill their seclusion. He felt it coursing through every fiber of his being, saw it in ever smiling face that passed him. He had never known such a happy feeling.

            “Come inside Kitorit!” He heard a voice call out to him. He turned around and saw a little house made of a combination of mud and wood, a straw door and a few blinds the only thing shielding it from the elements. Smoke was rising from the window as a woman he had never seen before stood outside the door.

            “I’ve prepared your favorite lunch!” She called again. He had no idea how such a stranger could know anything about him, though there was something about her that looked vaguely familiar.

            He began walking towards her in a curious gait, trying to make out the details in her face that never seemed to get any clearer the closer he got to her. But he wasn’t getting closer to her. With each step he took the gap between him and the house seemed to expand. Further and further it stretched until the house and the woman looked a mile away. He broke into a sprint, calling out to her with a name he had never called anyone before. As he ran he could see the smoke coming from the window grow darker, the roof of the house becoming engulfed in flames. He began to run faster, just as the woman turned away and went inside the house.

            “No!” He yelled. “Don’t go in! Please!” All around him the fire had spread. The trees had been set ablaze and the happy cries of the other children had turned to horrified screams. He could see them standing in a row to his left and right, where the trees had originally been. Their faces frozen in agonizing fear as their screams grew louder by the second.

            He could see the woman watching him through the window. Her eyes filled with blood and face turned up into a scowl. In another moment the flames had engulfed her, and he watched as her red hair burnt to a crisp, her skin melt away, and the blood from her eyes pouring down her body and out the window, trickling down to his feet.

            “NO! MOTHER!!!” The blood had gone from a trickle to a stream, burying his feet and pushing against him as he struggled to reach the house. The children were still screaming as he fought against the blood, only they no longer resembled children. Their skin had been replaced with what looked like tree bark, and their faces looked like someone had carved empty holes where their eyes and mouths should have been. They all stared at him as the house was lost in the flames and the boy would soon be lost in the blood.

            Finally he lost his footing and fell into the river, nearly choking as blood poured into his mouth and lungs. The stream pushed him away until the desert had faded away into darkness. Only the red of the blood gave off any color here, yet he was certain he could see something in the distance. Its back was turned to him but he could see a brutish figure looking down at the blood running past its feet. The figure produced a cup and bent down to fill it. It took a drink from the cup but quickly went back to fill it up again. When it had finished it filled the cup again, and again, and again. Soon the cup no longer sated it and the figure threw it away, scooping handfuls of blood into its mouth. He closed his eyes, wishing the monster would go away, that this horrible nightmare would end. And then he looked up into the figure’s golden eyes. It smiled, revealing blood soaked teeth. It was a monster he had never seen before. Its head resembling a ghastly boar, its body an amalgamation of man and beast. Just as he thought the horror had reached its peak, the monster spoke to him.

            “ **There can only be one.** ”

 

            He awoke with a start, nearly causing him to fall off the pony. But he had not been riding a pony when he went to sleep, of that he was at least fairly sure of. It took Kit a moment to get his bearings but soon he found out that he was sharing Faera’s pony with her as the other one kept pace with it, the two tied together with some spare rope. She carried both scimitars in the sheathes on her back while Kit felt his sack tied to the side of the pony.

            “I was wondering when you would awaken.” She said without looking at him. The young king rubbed his eyes as a yawn escaped his lips.

            “Where… are we?” The land around them was covered in mist, making it impossible to get a full grasp as to where they were going or where they had even been. “How did I get here?” He asked instead.

            “I carried you.” His caretaker answered.

            “I knew _that_.”

            “Then why do you ask questions you already know?”

            “Because I don’t!” He said in his own defense. “I mean,” recognizing that it may have come across as rude, “why are we here? Why did you not wake me up before?”

            “No time,” the Gerudo woman pulled the reins a little to the left. “Bokoblins were sneaking up on us.”

            “Bokoblins?”

            “You’ll know soon enough.” Kit could hear a sound nearby. It sounded like water… no, it was a group of people. “We’re approaching the gate.”

            The mist was still too strong to make anything out clearly but he could still hear the sound of other people clearly through it.

            “I haven’t got any flippin’ fifty rupees!” What sounded like an angry gentleman yelled.

            “That’s not my problem.” Another gentleman, though it might have been generous to call him “gentlemen,” responded.

            “Last time I came through here the toll was only ten rupees!”

            “Well now it’s fifty,” the toll master said.

            “How could it have gone up five times in just a week?!”

            “Rate of inflation, mate.”

            “That’s not how inflation works!”

            “What would you know about it anyway?”

            “I’m a banker!!!”

            The two argued for some time, enough for the mist to clear away ever so slightly and reveal the two men to the two Gerudo. One of them, the banker, was a stocky gentleman wearing exquisite robes made of the finest silk. The other, the toll master, was a lankier sort with greasy hair and a wart on his long nose. He wore a messy dark green shirt with long sleeves that had a shoddily placed mark on the shoulder that resembled the Triforce.

            “I’ll tell you what,” the toll master said, his voice not exactly reeking of proper authority, “I’ll let you get by with a discount just because I’m a nice guy. Shall we say… forty-five rupees?” The banker stammered in shock and amazement.

            “Forty-five?! I won’t waste a cent on your ilk!” The toll master shook his head as he made a sound of disappointment.

            “Now, now Mr. Banker. If you don’t pay the toll then I don’t get paid to do my job. And I not getting paid is one thing, but my friend over there.” He pointed at a large person leaning against a wall on the other side of the gate, glaring at the banker as he cracked his knuckles. “Now he gets really upset when he doesn’t get paid. So what’s it going to be?” The banker gulped and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief, dabbing his forehead as he gave a weak chuckle.

            “Forty-five is more than fair, hehe...”

            “Deal!” The two men shook hands and the banker paid him what was due, grumbling as he went through the gates. Faera bid Kit to stay on the pony as she dismounted, the toll master taking immediate notice of her.

            “Well, well, well… I certainly have never seen a vision as lovely as you pass through my gate.” His eyes wandered every inch of her body in a way that made Kit uncomfortable to watch. “More’s the pity, but still, there’s a first time for everything.”

            “We wish to gain entry to the town.” Faera said, in no mood to indulge in the man’s double entendre.

            “Ah yes, well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem seeing how steep the toll is, as you no doubt heard. But perhaps you and I can come to a… an understanding if you catch my-” Faera grabbed the man’s hand and slapped a pouch into it.

            “Fifty rupees, keep the change.”

            “Wh-what?” The man stood bewildered as Faera sat behind Kit again. A click of her tongue and the ponies began to walk across the bridge, past the toll master who was busy counting the rupees in the bag.

            “Hey! H-hold on a minute there lady! How do I know these are real?!”

            “If you’d ever worked an honest job you might be able to tell the difference.” she called back without stopping.

            “Ah…” the man pondered this and eventually gave a shrug, tying the sack closed and putting it in his pocket with a satisfied pat.

            Kit looked back at the toll master and then at his caretaker. “Rupees?” He asked.

            “The currency of Hyrule. I’ve kept an emergency supply since before you were born.”

            “Oh.” Kit met the stare of the brutish man who growled at him. He turned away quickly but still could not help but laugh at the look on the toll master’s face when she had given him the pouch. “Clever.”

            “Except now we have no money to rent a room at an inn.”

            “No money at all?” Faera shook her head.

            “I should have given him exact change,” she admitted, “but I just wanted to get away from him.” Kit didn’t blame her as he stole a glance at the brute who was still watching them exit out the other side of the gate.

            When he turned back what felt like a gust of wind stronger than any they’d endured in the desert swept over him. For almost as soon as they had entered the town proper a rush of new and exciting wonders overpowered every one of his senses. He had become immersed in a sea of Hylians coming and going to and fro, haggling and arguing amongst themselves as some bought and others sold. A throng of various voices mixed together into a mess of sound and fury, making it quite a feat that he was able to hear his caretaker as she leaned into his ear and said what no citizen had any time or common politeness to.

            “Welcome to Hyrule.”


	5. Hustle and Bustle

To say that the Castle City of Hyrule was a culture shock for the young Gerudo would be the equivalent of stating attacking a cucco was ill advised. They were both massive understatements.

            Kit could swear his eyes had betrayed him as he experienced for the first time what Hylians referred to in the broadest and most subjective of terms as “Wednesday.” Customers and shop owners ran out in front of them as they hustled from one building to the next. The baker with his tray (like always), the bookbinder dragging a wagon full of stock behind him, the seamstress and her apprentice carrying rolls upon rolls of the finest cloth he’d ever seen. Along the rows of buildings on each side of the street he saw rupees tossed and bartered around as though they were common sundries, smoke from freshly cooked meals escaping through the open windows of fancy eateries or side street vendors. And all around him, though the citizens of Hyrule came in various shapes and size, they all had one thing in common. None of them were paying him or Faera the slightest bit of attention.

            “So this is Hyrule…” He said in complete awe.

            “Gaudy isn’t it?” His caretaker didn’t seem to share his wonder.

            “And look at the people,” He said as a third Hylian had bumped into one of the ponies and shot them a dirty look. “What’s wrong with their ears?”

            “Curb your tongue my young sovereign,” Faera said, “to them it is we who are the strange ones.” He hadn’t noticed it immediately but he could see a few of the Hylians whispering among themselves if they happened to take notice of the two Gerudo riding into town. While he could spot a few of them that had what he called regular ears, the majority were pointed, just as the majority of them who were looking at him spoke to each other in quiet disgust. He felt his cheeks turn red as he kept his head down. Never had he felt more ashamed that his ears were round.

            “We’ll have to find someplace we can sell the ponies.” Kit turned to his caretaker with a look of surprise.

            “Sell them? But why?”

            “We won’t need them anymore, and we’ll need rupees if we intend to stay.” She answered.

            “Well I… guess…” Kit glanced at the other pony walking alongside them. It was hard to spend a long time atop anything and not form a sort of attachment to it, even it smelt like the collective droppings of every horse, mule, and pony in existence, but Faera had already made up her mind. They took a right when they reached a large courtyard with a marble fountain built in the center. The statue in the center was that of the three Goddesses, each one with their hands hovering underneath the collective Triforce. Kit could see the glimmer of rupees underneath the water, and even saw a Hylian child tossing a green one into it. How rich were these people that they could so blatantly throw their currency away?

            He saw plenty others of the Hylian social elite as they passed through the marketplace, frequenting only the poshest of stores along the Market Mile. It was easy for any small mom and pop store or two-bit vendor to set up shop on Main Street, where people entered the city (literally) right out of the gate, but only the best of the best could claim a business residence in this prestigious mile of road in the most prestigious city of the most prestigious kingdom in this corner of the world.

            So it only made sense, in hindsight given their desperate need for rupees, that they would be doing business well away from it.

            When they reached a quaint three story bookshop and a store that specialized in exotic Zora cuisine, they took a left to a side street where the flash and flair of the Hylian elite took an immediate dive. It wasn’t a bad street, the people were pleasant enough and the buildings were well kept and presentable, but anything when compared to the splendor Market Mile was an instant downgrade. And it only got worse the farther along the side streets they went.

            Friendly or otherwise indifferent faces gave way to the austere and troublemaking, clothes that were fit for a king degraded into those fit for a knight, then a lord, then a nobleman, then a serf, and finally to the dark colored scraps the Hylians in the Second District wore.

            It is probably best to explain, at this point, that the original Castle Town of Hyrule had undergone a massive expansion in the years since the Hero of Time. For, after the initial fall of Ganon and the Hero’s disappearance into legend, the kingdom prospered and hit an enormous financial boom in just the first hundred years since the Dark Gerudo’s defeat. With this boom came not only the surplus of people who moved back into the kingdom from then-overcrowded Kakariko Village, but settlers and businessmen from all over the world who had come to seek out, first hand, the Hero of Time, whose legacy had spread far and wide past the borders of Hyrule. And so it was that the initial bit of land that the Hyrule royal family had settled upon became too small to house absolutely everybody, and thus the current king, Nohansen Lutolph III, proposed the “City Plan.”

            Much of the old quarter was destroyed or otherwise refurbished to make way for the new, grander buildings that would house what the King believed to be, the future of Hyrule. People of all walks of life, Hylians and otherwise, and every other race of creature would be able to find a home in the new city, and set up businesses that would thrive and lead them to financial stability. Something that many citizens were still lacking in the wake of Ganon’s demise. For half a century the people built, laying down the foundation for a better kingdom, until finally the city expansion had been completed. Where once was a simple pathway to the old courtyard from the main gate now stood a fantastic Main Street, which branched apart to several districts in the city.

            Market Mile lay in the Financial Quarter, to the right of the Great Courtyard where the Fountain of the Goddesses resided. An elegant part of town that held only the fanciest houses, businesses and people. If one were to pass to the left of the courtyard they would find themselves in the Fashion Quarter, where every beautiful garment made by the most skilled hands could be found. The Royal Quarter was to the north of the courtyard, where weapons and armory could be found. It was also there, fittingly enough, that the bridge to Hyrule Castle could be crossed.

            Within these quarters were the districts. Seven in total, each corresponding with one of the sages of legend (although some of their names had become long forgotten by the common folk unless they were to look at a map of the city). These districts made up most of the city, and while some of them were as prosperous as the three quarters, there were some where few tourists ventured and the city’s bureaucrats and aristocrats largely ignored. District Two was one such place, located at the southeast portion of the city near the Financial Quarter, and had a reputation for being the worst of the seven districts.

            It was, perhaps, no coincidence that the most desperate of Hylian citizens found their way here. Those who had tasted a sliver of wealth and for some reason or another lost it all. Now they were trying to win it back. Through begging, stealing, loaning, parlor tricks and parlor games, everywhere one looked it was all the same. Ill-kept houses, rags for clothes, an air of unease and pity, pestilence and plague, and it was the worst sight the young King had ever seen.

            “How did this happen?” He asked as he swore his eyes had betrayed him again. He could remember seeing the lavish colors and people of Hyrule only a few moments ago. This place, drab and devoid of hope, felt like an entirely different city altogether. “How can they live like this?”

            “They have no choice.” Faera answered him, shooing away a few children who were sizing the ponies up. “These people are poor, Kit. They cannot enjoy the pleasures many other Hylians do.”

            “But that doesn’t make any sense…” Kit was left musing as Faera dismounted the pony, taking Kit with her.

            “Stick close to me,” She led them through the street as Kit saw the other side of the golden city. When so many people could enjoy the good life, how could even more be left in the gutter? He watched as several Hylians glared at them, their faces, while meant to be threatening, only came across as tired to him. Pain-ridden and rife with desire.

            More than a few of them approached the two, palms outstretched and begging for anything that could help. He had never felt such a horrible twinge of guilt than when he had to turn them away. There was nothing he could do, nothing he could give that would truly help any of them. But that did not deter his newfound drive to do so. To find a way to help them, all of them…

            “Them ponies of yours look nice and healthy.” A bald-headed man called out to Faera. He might have been a near-sighted man as well to call the ponies who were an inch from tumbling to the gravel with every step they took “strong and healthy.”

            “They’re not for sale.” She said without looking at him, not even stopping as they continued down the road.

            “But Fae you said-”

            “Hush.” She told Kit from the corner of her mouth. As if on cue the bald-headed Hylian ran up in front of them.

            “Now just a moment,” He was a muscular gentleman, wearing a sleeveless tunic that exposed his arms and the dragon tattoos he sported on each one. The place where his hair should have been also bore a tattoo, a crude drawing of the royal family’s coat of arms, done for cheap and to compensate for the bare patch of skin it rested upon.

            “Just a moment,” the man repeated, “every man has his buying point.”

            “Thankfully I am not as stupid.” Faera aimed to pass him by but the tattooed man stepped in front of her again.

            “Please, malady, I am no charlatan, not like some of these other codgers around here like him, or him.” The man pointed at an older Hylian smoking a pipe down the street and just across from them at a blind old man sitting at a table with three cups upon it. “No, no, no, I’m an honest man, that’s me. Good ol’ honest Kal, that’s what they call me.”

            “And you may call me uninterested, please step out of my way.” The man Kal stopped her again, this time cutting to the chase.

            “I’ll pay you good money for both those ponies miss. Just name your price and I can pay.” This is what she wanted to hear.

            “How much are you willing to part with?” The man shrugged.

            “In truth, I don’t have much. But please!” He shouted for fear that she might try and leave again. “Please, I have eighty-five rupees on me right now plus another two hundred back home! I can pay you in all of it if you need it.” She thought it over as she looked the man over. He had the appearance of a brute, and that no doubt served him well in this part of town, but he was not a boorish man. It was evident by how much he clung to the worn wedding band on his left ring finger.

            “What do you intend to use them for?” She asked.

            “Food miss.” He answered. “I’m a butcher you see, and there’s some good meat on these ponies. Enough to feed my family and maybe others. I’d make sure they’re put to rest nice and easy, nothing cold-blooded, they look like they’ve deserved that much.” Faera did not need long to come to a decision, she was only a touch surprised that Kit did not protest the proposed arrangement.

            “How much does it cost to spend a night at one of the inns?” She asked him.

            “That depends,” he said, “I wouldn’t recommend any inns in District Two but any of the other Districts you’re probably looking at around thirty to sixty per person for each night. And it costs more if you want to stay at any on Main Street.”

            “That won’t be necessary, I’ll take the eighty-five you have.” They shook on the deal just as a nearby clock tower chimed the hour. Faera passed the reins over to the tattooed man in return for a small sack of rupees and they parted ways with both giving one bit of advice to the other.

            “I would look at the inns in the Fifth District. They generally cheap for families, you and your son could probably convince them to let you stay at a discount.”

            “Thank you.” She bowed her head and added, “Sell the hide to a tanner, you should make back your money.” The man Kal thanked her as well and pushed against the crowd to make his way home. A large group of Hylians were running past her, somewhere in the direction of where the bells were still chiming. Faera counted the money and tied the sack to her belt.

            “Kit, let’s head for the Fifth District.” The young King did not respond. “Kit,” she said in a stern voice that tried to be compassionate, “I know you’re upset about the ponies but we have to…” He did not respond a second time due to the infinitesimal fact that he was nowhere to be found.

            “Kit!” She shouted through the rabble. “Kit!!!” She scanned the crowd, looking over and under them to see if the boy was nearby. She deduced that he may have been swept up into the crowd and began to follow them, calling out to the child at random intervals.

            “Kit! Kit! Kit where are you! Kit!” No answer. He probably couldn’t hear her over all the noise. She glanced at all the places he could have gone, all the streets he could have wandered off to, or all the dark corners where he could have been taken away. She should have been more attentive. She knew that as soon as they arrived in Hyrule, enemies would stop at nothing to try and get to him, to undo all of the work they had done for the past twelve years. To silence the true Gerudo King before he ever ascended the throne.

            She composed herself, not allowing her anxiety to run away with her. She had trained Kit well, the boy could defend himself and more importantly the boy was smart. If he was in danger he would be able to find his way out of it. Yes, Kit was smart, and he was also not the kind of boy to just wander off for no reason.

 

            “Please, malady, I am no charlatan, not like some of these other codgers around here like him, or him.” Kit saw the tattooed man point at an older Hylian smoking a pipe and a blind man across the street sitting at a table with three cups upon it. While Faera took care of selling the ponies he saw no harm in seeing if there was any way he could help the blind one. As casual as he could manage, he slipped away from his busy caretaker and approached the blind Hylian, who was muttering to himself under his breath.

            “Excuse me sir-” The blind man jumped at the sound of his voice, startling Kit in return. The blind man laughed, revealing old, crooked teeth (and several that were missing entirely).

            “Forgive me young lady, you startled me.”

            “I’m a boy-”

            “Ah! You seem like a smart wee lass, I wonder if you’d like to play a game.”

            “A… game sir?” The blind man laughed again, waving his hand in an elaborate gesture as his hand passed over each of the three goblets on the table.

            “What I have here is a simple memorization game,” He held a pebble up for Kit to see. “I put this little pebble here under one of these goblets, and you tell me which one it’s under when I’m done switching ‘em around. Get it?”

            “I guess so.”

            “Good, good! Now if you could just part with five rupees to start, that amount will double with each game you-”

            “I don’t have any rupees sir.” The blind man flashed a sneer at Kit before finding his crooked smile again.

            “Not to worry, not to worry, why don’t we wager that nice little bow of yours for compensation eh?” Kit looked back at Faera who was still bartering with the tattooed man. He doubted that once she had the money she would allow him to spend it on a simple game, but he also knew that she would not want him to part ways with his bow for any means.

            “How easy is this game?” He asked as he held the tip of his bow in a nervous grip.

            “Easy!” The blind man said with a snap. “A Goron could do it.” Kit didn’t know any Gorons for reference, but saw no harm in betting for one simple game, if it made the man happy.

            “Alright.” He took the bow out of his sack and placed it underneath the table, sitting down as the blind man put the pebble underneath the middle goblet.

            The blind man began switching the goblets, slow at first but picking up speed as the seconds ticked on. Kit kept his eye on what had been the middle goblet, as it switched to the right, left, middle, left, middle, right, middle, right, and so on. For any other passerby they might have lost track of the goblet somewhere along the fifth second, but Kit was sharp. Tutored by the best his eyes had almost no equal. And when the blind man stopped and asked where was the pebble, he felt confident in pointing to the goblet on the right. He then said his guess aloud due to remembering the poor man’s own lack of sight. The blind man grinned and removed the goblet from the table to reveal…

            “Oooooh, tough break kiddo.” The blind man said before Kit had a chance to voice his reaction.

            “But! B-b-b-but, but, it was… what?!”

            “Sorry little girl, but when you gamble be prepared to lose. I’ll take that bow of yours now.” Kit felt a lump in his stomach as he imagined having to tell Faera what happened to his bow. It was the same lump he felt whenever he imagined disappointing her and he never liked it.

            “Wait, let me try again!”

            “Well that’s going to be a problem since you don’t seem to have any rupees to spare. What else do you have in that sack of yours?” Kit reached behind him and pulled the sack to his stomach so he could have a better look inside it when a clock tower from a distance began to chime. He did not notice how the blind man turned in its direction, like a dog hearing the tune of a whistle only it could, and got on his feet to join the crowd who were following the sound of the bells.

            “I have this!” Kit pulled out his own whistle and was about to describe it to him when he noticed the blind man was already gone. About to disappear into a crowd that was making its way down the street back the way he and Faera had come from. “Hey, mister! Wait, you forgot my bow!” Kit grabbed it and gave chase, trying to catch up to the blind man who was making his way fine through the crowd without so much as a cane.

            It was all the same when Kit lost him as more people joined in the crowd. And before he knew it he was being pushed along with them, throughout District Two and into District Three, before the crowd took a turn to the left and found themselves on Main Street again, heading into the Royal Quarter.

            It was around this point when he realized that not only was Faera nowhere to be seen, that he was lost in a city that was completely foreign to him. Suddenly the lump in his stomach felt like a feather compared to the worry that stemmed from his heart. He could feel it accelerating to a rate that might explode if he couldn’t escape the crowd immediately, but he could not. No matter how hard he struggled, no matter how loud or polite he said, “Excuse me” no one would let him through. And so he was herded along with the rest of them to where the bells had chimed, to the Cathedral of the Goddesses in the Old Quarter.

 

            While most of the Old Quarter’s buildings had been torn down and replaced when it was remodeled into District Four, the Temple of Time had always been a staple of the Castle City. After all, it was here that the Hero of Time earned his title, using it and the fabled sword of evil’s bane to traverse the different time periods of his childhood and his adult years when Ganon took over. That said, it was no surprise when King Nohansen named it a historic monument, meant to be preserved by the people for as long as the kingdom stood. And so all the construction had been built around the temple, to the point where hundreds of years had made the Temple of Time seem trapped in time itself. And in the years that followed, with the popularity of the Hero of Time’s story largely becoming a tourist attraction more than a legend, the temple began to fall into disarray. For there were none who kept it, save the deeply devoted, and there were even fewer who attended it. The old Gods in Hyrule may as well have been dead, and the memory of the Golden Goddesses were scarcely remembered by any save those closest to the royal family.

            Then Ganon returned.

            When Ganon emerged from the Sacred Realm and decimated much of the fields outside the kingdom, more and more people were turning to faith (as was such in times of great turmoil). The old priests didn’t know how to accommodate this rising number of new believers, the questions they asked about the Goddesses and whether or not they would answer their prayers, or whether or not the Hero of Time might return to them and fend off the evil once more. When the people didn’t get their answers they began to riot, and it appeared faith may have been lost to the Hylians forever. Until one day a new priest appeared, showing them the light.

            And it was this light that the crowd was so eager to see. Although Kit didn’t know that this was the purpose of the crowd. All he knew was he was being dragged through the Royal Quarter against his will. Hapless to go against the flow of the crowd who were piling up and starting to fight among themselves to get the best seats (figuratively speaking).

            Kit continued to follow the crowd. Both to not draw attention to himself and to remain in one (relative) place so Faera could find him with ease. He was certain that she would be quick to notice his absence and of that he was right, however Faera would later not know whether to call it blissful ignorance or dangerous naivety that he believed it would be so simple.

            Kit eventually found himself stopped somewhere near the middle of the large crowd that gathered in front of a massive cathedral. He had never seen such a building, not even for all the amazing architecture he had passed in the rest of the city. To him it appeared ancient, but in truth it was probably the youngest building in the entire kingdom.

            While the old decree that stated the Temple of Time could not be torn down was still in effect, its newest high priest still thought the old temple would not satisfy his plans to bring the light of the Goddesses to the people. To compensate for this, he constructed a new, taller, and larger cathedral to be built around the old temple. And it was this monstrosity that Kit was currently gawping at.

            The walls were a pearl white, the spires and gargoyles pure gold, even the bells that had chimed the hour at ten o’clock were of the finest silver. When the sun hit the cathedral just right it was known to blind people even at a distance. Thankfully the sky was still a misty gray as the people began to grow impatient.

            Kit heard a commotion from further up the crowd that spread its way back to him. People stomping their feet and calling out for the high priest in a name that was too muddled by all the voices to make out. Kit looked over his shoulder to see if Faera might be pushing her way through the crowd, but he could see nothing. His height was his enemy that day, even as someone stepped out to the cathedral balcony he could barely see them past the heads of those standing in front of him.

            Whoever it was the crowd seemed pleased as their chants grew into an uproar. Although for the one second the crowd seemed sated, the next they were chanting again. Calling out for the person whose name Kit still could not discern.

            The person at the balcony stretched out their arms, asking for silence. The crowd was as silent as a thousand people could be as they shouted from the balcony.

            “Good people of Hyrule!” Their voice echoed throughout the square. It was a man, who somehow possessed the ability to carry his voice great distances (Kit had not been around for the invention of the megaphone).

            “My people!” The man on the balcony shouted again when the crowd had gone silent. “Are you ready to find enlightenment?!” The people bellowed their enthusiasm. “Do you wish for your prayers to be heard by the Golden Goddesses?!” Kit covered his ears, which had little effect in nulling the clamor. 

            “Then my friends,” He held up a strange looking arm again. To the young King he resembled a tiny smudge in the far off distance, the arm he was holding up looking more like a stiff stick attached to his shoulder. “To those of you who have been true believers… and to those who have lost their way and find themselves here (Hey that’s me, Kit thought)… and to the skeptics who doubt that the word of the Goddesses is true… I give you, the high priest of the Cathedral of the Goddesses, the shepherd who shall lead you, his flock, to salvation! For we are all his flock, good ladies and gentlemen! We are all in need of salvation in these difficult times! And he shall give it to you first hand!” Kit thought the crowd might go into a riot if the man on the balcony wound them up any further.

            “Ladies and gentlemen, with no further delay, I present the most holy man in all the kingdoms and all the distant lands beyond! Errol Jhonhu!!!”

            The cries of all the Hylians gathered in the square had reached its highest peak as another man stepped onto the balcony. From where Kit was standing he could not see the high priest or appreciate him in the splendor that he presented himself in. For Errol Jhonhu, self-appointed high priest of the Temple of Time (now renamed the Cathedral of the Goddesses) was beyond compare, even to the most ostentatious Hylian one could name off the top of their head.

            He adorned himself in gold, having had little in the way of it twelve years ago, and wore purple robes that were too big for him if one were to observe him at a closer distance. His hair was as golden as the jewelry that sparkled in the sun’s reflection. Kit could not make out the finer details of his clothing or trinkets from where he stood, and neither could the majority of the crowd, but the high priest always wore his best when looking down on his flock.

            Now it was he who held up his arms. Not so much in silence but in a sort of gesture that said, “Please that’s enough, but I can probably stand you continuing for another half a minute.”

            “My people.” He spoke. Kit thought several people in the crowd were dying by the sound of their shrieks. It was a melodious voice, he would admit, young but with an air of authority that could not be easily questioned.

            “My people.” He repeated when the calm had returned. “I wish to tell you of a glorious dream.” The crowd voiced their approval.

            “I do it an injustice by calling it a dream. Rather, I was granted a vision.” He amended. The people around Kit began to whisper to themselves in excitement.

            “Yes, my people. I was in a deep prayer last night. Not knowing the taste of food or a drop of water. Praying that I may have an answer for many of your own troubling prayers.” He seemed to emphasize the word ‘prayer’ a lot, as though it were a funny word he liked to repeat much the same Kit had a fondness for saying ‘fallacy’ when he was younger.

            “It was then that I was visited by Nayru, who imparted great wisdom to me and eased many of my woes. I would like, if I may, to do the same to you. May I describe the vision?” He waited for the crowd to erupt for another minute before he went on.

            “I saw a tree atop a hill, where children laughed and played under its shade without fear of disease, or war, or other hardship. I was taken to a great pyramid where inside I was able to touch the Triforce itself. I tell you, good people, even to touch it in the vision I thought my hand might melt away. To think such a stained and filthy hand as mine could lay even a finger on such a sacred object. Nayru spoke to me then, asking me what I would wish for.

            “The answer was clear my people, I could only ask for the knowledge that would put your hearts to rest. If I could have even one of you look upon me and smile, letting me know that your worry was not eating away at your soul… I tell you that would be better than all the treasures of all the kingdom combined.” Kit felt touched at this and thought back to when he had been presented with a similar situation a few weeks back. How simple the high priest’s answer had been and how foolish he felt that he did not come to the same conclusion.

            “And so Nayru gave me this wonderful news… the Hero of Time… is returning.”

            The roar of the crowd shook the very earth. Kit thought the sound might bring the walls of the city crashing down if it reached any higher in volume. When enough people had screamed themselves hoarse the high priest continued.

            “Now, the Goddesses work in mysterious ways my friends. So I was not given the full details as to how, why, or when the return would be. However, I am certain that the time is close. The Dark King of the desert can no longer hide from the divine judgement of the true Gods. His day is coming. And it is coming, soon!” He paused for another applause, which was sparse this time (the majority of people still recovering from the last round).

            “Until then, I implore you good people, to keep sending in your tithes and offerings. With your help, we can spread this good word to every corner of the world, and to fortify our cathedral so that we are prepared when the Hero will return. When the horns of Hyrule sound in the golden glory of our Goddesses, when the rats of the sands are cast back into darkness from whence their primitive minds came, WHEN THE PEOPLE OF HYURLE CAN ONCE AGAIN WALK THE STREETS WITHOUT FEAR OF WHAT GOES ON OUTSIDE THEIR WALLS, THEN… then, my people… the Golden Land will be ours to flourish in. In the shadow of the Golden Goddesses’ wings… bless you all, my children. Bless your generous contributions to our faith. Bless Hyrule.”

            An impressive finish for an impressive speech. The crowd cheered for the final time as Errol backed away off the balcony, bowing to the people still chanting his name. Kit could hear it clearer now that he had heard it. “Errol, Errol, Errol” they chanted as the first man appeared on the balcony again.

            “Those of you who have an offering to give, please make your way to the front of the cathedral. Our brothers and sisters will graciously accept your rupees. Praise be to the Golden Goddesses and to the promise they have given us all!” The crowd shouted their “hear, hears” and the balcony was vacant.

            The Hylians began to break apart from the square, a good many of the upper and middle class heading toward the cathedral while others began to head for home. Kit had no money to offer and no home to return to, so all he could think to do was stand where he was. He went by unnoticed, as he’d hoped, by the people passing him by, only interested in attracting the attention of his equally lost caretaker. As he waited for her he could not help but think of what the high priest had just said.

            The Hero of Time, _the_ Hero of all heroes, was he really returning? And how would he return? Would it be the original hero, come back from time itself to finish the fight he started with Ganondorf? A reincarnation of sorts, if such a thing was possible? Perhaps it would be the Golden Goddesses themselves who sent him down to Hyrule. To save the world and right what had gone so wrong these past twelve years. Maybe he could even help the poor people of the Second District, and all throughout the Castle City. If anyone could, surely it would be him.

            “Ow!” He was brought away from his thoughts when a stone hit him in the back of the head. He spun around and saw three Hylian boys, all a few years older than him, laughing and clutching rocks in their hands.

            “Nice shot!” The middle one wearing a scarf said to the one picking up another stone on Kit’s left.

            “Hey you, desert rat!” The right one yelled. Kit glanced behind him as he made sure his head wasn’t bleeding.

            “Me?” He asked. He responded by throwing his stone at him, narrowly missing his temple. “Hey! Stop that!” The boys laughed at his protest. “What have I done to you?”

            “What haven’t you done you savage!” The left one, who was twins with the right boy and almost indiscernible with his brother save for a scar on his forehead, spoke. “You and your kind destroyed my village! _Our_ village!” He gestured to his comrades. “You either have a lot of guts showing yourself in our city or a death wish.”

            “Either way works fine with us.” The middle boy’s face did not suit his age. The way all the boys looked at him made him feel uneasy. He scanned the square for anyone who could help him but no one was paying them any mind. Even those who gave a passing stare did nothing to intervene.

            “Please,” Kit said, “I’m sorry for anything I’ve done, just leave me alone.”

            “Leave you alone?” The right twin repeated with a cruel chortle. “We leave you alone and you’ll just come back with the rest of your little friends.”

            “Did any of your kind let our families go when they begged for mercy?!” The left twin asked. Kit had no idea what they were talking about, what his kind had done to them that earned him their scorn. All he knew was that they were growing tired of talking, and the stones in their hands were ripe for throwing.

            “You better start running rat,” The middle one took several slow steps towards the Gerudo, “Run as fast as your little legs can take you and keep running till they start to bleed.”

            “And never come back!”

            “Or we’ll make ‘em bleed for you!”

            “What’s going on here?” Kit was relieved when he saw an adult walk up behind the three boys, the middle one especially seemed to cringe at the voice alone. He turned around and seemed to loosen his grip on his stone.

            “F-father.” He stammered. The sigh from the young King’s lips was like releasing a noxious cloud of gas before breathing a fresh ray of sunshine.

            “Well?” The middle one’s father asked. His arms folded and thick eyebrow raised high into the sky. He could have taken lessons from Faera for how effective it was.

            “It’s one of them pop,” The middle one said as the twins stared at their feet, “One of the non-believers.” The father looked at Kit who nodded his head in respect.

            “And what were you planning to do with those stones?” His voice was a calm before a storm.

            “We… we were gonna… throw ‘em at him.” The boy’s father was still, looking at his son and at Kit in a face that was too stoic to read. Suddenly, and to an effect that was far more worrisome than when he was silent, the boy’s father gave a single chuckle.

            “Well don’t let me stop you.”

            Kit’s brain lurched as the three boys smiled in glee and triumph. Their hands clenched their stones as they began to approach the poor Gerudo, who was too stunned to run away. Giving his attackers enough time to cast the first stone, hitting him right in the nose and sending him backwards onto the cobblestone ground.

            Sense returned to him too late as the boys ran up to him and began kicking him. Everytime he rose to flee he was forced back down by the onslaught of their feet. They threw his sack off of him when it blocked some of their blows, scattering its contents to the street. He could see one of the twins raising his stone and preparing to bring it down upon him. He braced himself for the pain to worsen as an unlikely savior revealed themselves.

            “THAT’S ENOUGH!” The voice thundered across the square, warding his attackers away from him long enough for the one who spoke to stand in front of the wounded Gerudo, shielding the boy with his body. “How dare you children attack someone who has done you no wrong?! And how dare you attack someone younger and smaller than you at that! How would you like it if I accosted you with stones as you were walking down the street?!”

            “You wouldn’t even have the stones to do it in the first place, Calatia, you quisling.” The middle boy’s father spoke, not sharing his son and his friends’ fear of the man who had defended Kit.

            “And you should be the most ashamed of them all Doba!” The man wagged a furious finger at the boy’s father, Doba. “Encouraging this, this revolting behavior!” He gestured at Kit. The young Gerudo did not see who was berating his attackers. All of his focus was at the pain in his nose and stomach, clutching at both as tears poured down his face.

            “Have you forgotten who it was that claimed the life of your wife so soon?” Doba took more pleasure in this than in any his boy had from beating Kit.

            “The actions of a few do not dictate the actions of all. Especially not a child!” Doba might have made a counterargument but the boy’s savior was not interested in discussing it any further. “Now LEAVE! All of you! If I see you attacking this boy or any other of his race again, I will not hesitate to bring the guard to your doorstep!” With a dismissive scoff Doba led the three boys out of the square. Leering his head back at the man and at Kit as he left.

            “Gerudo lover.” The boy’s protector watched as the group left, never turning his back to them until he knew they were gone.

            “Are you alright?” For a moment Kit thought another man had come up to him. The thunderous voice that had scared his assailants away was gone, replaced with a soft, slow speech that soothed a bit of his soul. It was then that he finally looked up at the man who had saved him, smiling down on him as he offered a hand.

            “Are you alright young man?” He was an older man, with a bushy beard and thick moustache, all of his hair having migrated from his scalp to his face. His eyes were a hazel-brown, the skin around them wrinkled and worn with age, and no small amount of smiles. It was this same kind face that drew the boy deeper into sorrow.

            “No.” He was able to admit through his sobs.

            “There, there.” The older man allowed the boy to cry into his already filthy brown robe. “It’s alright now, they won’t hurt you again.” It wasn’t just them. It was being lost in this city without knowing where Faera was, it was not having a clue how to help all the people, even those who had attacked him. It was being unable to apologize for the actions of his people, whatever horrible crimes they had committed. His own pain was not at the forefront of his tears, though they certainly contributed to them.

            “Where are you parents, young man?”

            “I… I don’t know.” He was too exhausted to tell him that it was not a parent he had lost. The man nodded his head as he produced a handkerchief from his pocket.

            “Dry your eyes.” Kit blew his nose and handed it back to his protector. The man, whom Kit remembered was called Calatia, pocketed the handkerchief (with great restraint to keep himself from voicing his disgust while doing so) and helped the boy to his feet.

            “I know I’m just a stranger to you, but I would never forgive myself if I let a little boy wander off by himself after what just happened. Especially when there are worse than Doba and his son out there.” Kit shuddered to think of people who could display feats even worse than what he had just endured. “But you mustn’t think too much ill of them,” Calatia added, “They aren’t bad people. They’re just… sad.”

            “Sad?” There was one thing they had in common from all this.

            “So much has been taken from them. From all of us. Some choose to let that change their nature, to shift the blame to those who may not deserve it. It poisons them, leaving a shell of their former selves as they cling to their grief. But never mind all that, come my boy, let me help you gather your things and I’ll take you to my home. I can cook you something nice while we try and decide how to go about finding your family.”

            There was a part of him that was wary over the man Calatia’s intentions. He seemed gentle enough, but it was as his caretaker had always warned him, one must never take anything at face value. Still, what choice did he have? He was alone and bruised, and staying so would invite others to try and attack him. At least with this man he might be safe for a little while. After much deliberation, and after Calatia had finished collecting all the items from Kit’s sack, Kit ran to his side, who gave him a warm smile as he took his hand in his, giving him back his sack and leading the way out of the square back down Main Street. Even for the newfound anxiety he gained with every suspicious glance a Hylian gave him, he could not escape the strange amalgamated feelings he had as he held Calatia’s hand. Comfort, good will, selflessness. He needed all of them now more than ever.


	6. The Calatias

District Six was found somewhere in the middle of the Fashion and Royal Quarters, and as such enjoyed a higher level of prosperity than the utterly dismal lower districts of Two and even the parts he’d seen of Three. Compared to the shops he’d seen in Market Mile or even the shops along Main Street it still left a lot to be desired, but the faces were friendlier and the living conditions cleaner.

            Kit was amazed at how different the city felt depending on where you were. He compared it to the journey across the Wilds and how even for how much distance he’d crossed it felt like he was running on a track that went nowhere. The Castle City could probably fit across the Wilds more than a hundred times, and yet as he struggled to keep up with how fast Calatia was going and for how much his feet ached he could swear he had never traveled so far in all his life.

            The ache in his feet was only beat out by the aches he felt everywhere else, the bruises he’d sustained from the man Dabo’s son and his friends still fresh along his skin, but he said nothing about it. He was used to his body aching, especially after having to train with Faera all his life. Yet occasionally Calatia would ask him how he felt and if he would prefer to be carried on his back. He politely declined everytime, but could not express how grateful he was to be saved and found by such a man as this. For the time being, he kept quiet about this as well. A twinge of doubt still lingered in his mind as to whether or not Calatia was the same man he claimed to be.

            After passing a multitude of different fashion and accessory shops Calatia rounded a corner and led them down a small street that ended at a wall. Kit could not help but give an anxious stare as he glanced at the houses to his right and left. They resembled the same wooden houses he’d seen in the other districts they’d passed, with red shingle tile roofs that glimmered in the sun. Not a blinding glimmer like the Cathedral of the Goddesses, but a nice soft glimmer that made you pine for a hot cup of tea, a chair by the window to read by, and all the other comforts one could only find in their home sweet home.

            Kit had known none of these, so it couldn’t be helped that he grew more nervous as they neared Calatia’s home.

            “Well, here we are.” He pointed to a house that was no different from all the others around it, save for a painting that hung on the door depicting a grassy field covered in yellow daisies. It was not a very realistic picture, made apparent by the smiley face on the bright yellow sun in the upper corner of it.

            “I was thinking of making soup for lunch, some garlic bread would be nice as well. Is that alright with you?”

            “That’ll be fine, thank you.” Kit suddenly remembered how he hadn’t even had breakfast and how the ache he felt along his stomach was not just a physical one. Calatia smiled and produced a keyring from his pocket, fumbling with a few of them before finding the one to his house, and unlocked the door.

            “Dears, I’m home!” He called to an empty living room.

            “Hello father!” He heard someone from upstairs call down.

            “Just leave your sack by the door and have a seat by the table… I’m sorry what did you say your name was?” He hadn’t given him a name, not through the entirety of their walk from the Cathedral Square.

            “Kitorit sir. But everyone calls me Kit.”

            “Kit,” Calatia gave a small nod and a smile that seemed tailored to his cheeks. “A fine name if there ever was one.”

            He went to the kitchen and began to search the pantry for ingredients while Kit had a proper look of the house. It was cozy, roomy enough but not enormous. The living room had one square table that took up most of the space in the middle of it. A fireplace stood at the far end of the room, with several pictures placed on the mantelpiece. Kit had been exposed to pictograms only once before, when Loga had shown one to him during a visit a few years ago and taken a few pictures with him (he still kept one they managed to snag with Faera when she was least expecting it in his sack). In most of the pictures Calatia stood, smiling of course, with two girls who grew older the more he went along the mantle. His daughters, Kit thought. There was one picture with another woman, holding a baby in her arms along with a younger Calatia who was holding a slightly older looking child in his. He remembered Doba saying something about Calatia’s wife back at the square, and thought it rude to ask him what had happened to her when he was busy preparing food for him.

            Kit put his sack on the ground next to the front door and went to the table in the middle of the room. He sat in awkward silence as he watched Calatia dash about the kitchen area. There was a large pantry in the corner and a pot that hung over a fire pit next to it. Several smaller pantries and a desk made up the other corner of the room and to the right of all of them was a staircase, which one of Calatia’s daughters was currently descending.

            “Tomato soup?” She asked.

            “The one and only.” Her father replied.

            “With garlic bread?”

            “What do you take us for, barbarians?” They shared a laugh which ended abruptly when she took notice of Kit.

            “Oh. Hello.” He gave a gauche wave which she returned, still confused as to who he was until she asked.

            “This is Kit,” Her father answered without looking away from the pantry. “He’s staying for lunch.” She still had a look of bewilderment as her sister came down the stairs, her warm smile she inherited from her father changing to a confused half-frown when she saw the young Gerudo.

            “Who are you?” She looked to be the younger sibling, if only by a year or two. Calatia introduced Kit and what he was doing there again. “Oh, okay.” She shrugged and joined him at the table, sitting adjacent to him. Kit suddenly felt nervous sitting so close to her. Not for fear that she might do anything unpleasant to him but only because she was rather charming, with long black-dyed hair that reached past her shoulders, and a face that had been made up with ruby red lipstick and powder that accentuated her eyes. She wore a dark purple dress with a sash tied around it and her bare feet tapped at the ground as she waited for her father to finish the soup.

            Kit distracted himself from her by watching Calatia prepare the soup while his elder daughter helped him. She wore plain white clothing and pants that were wrinkled and dirty. Spots of random colors adorned every other inch of her, making it hard to tell what the original color had been. Her face was not made up with any powder or lipstick yet it was still fair like her sister’s. They could almost pass off as twins if one wasn’t paying close attention to them.

            “So how did my father whisk you off the streets?” The younger sister asked him. Staring into her eyes made it difficult for him to give a coherent answer.

            “Well, I, he, uh… I g-got lost and, uh… well... well…”

            “Well, well what?” She asked with playful impatience that made him blush.

            “I found him wandering the streets.” Calatia answered for him again. He was chopping up tomatoes as the elder daughter handed them to him. “He’s lost his parents and I agreed to help him look for them.”

            “Not my parents exactly,” Kit corrected, “just my caretaker. Or my mentor, or teacher, or… something.” The younger sister nodded and Kit had to look away to stop his face from turning red.

            “What’s her name?” The older sister asked.

            “Faera. I call her Fae. She’ll probably be furious with me for losing her when I find her.”

            “This is a pretty big city,” Calatia drew water from the pump at the right end of the kitchen into the pot and hung it over the now lit fire pit. “People get lost here every day, even locals.”

            “And they all end up having breakfast, lunch, or dinner with us.” The younger sister gave Kit a wink.

            “It never hurts to be hospitable, that’s my motto anyway.” Calatia poured the tomato bits into the cauldron and he and the elder sister joined the other two at the table while they waited for the soup to heat up.

            “I’m Saviha by the way.” The elder sister reached from across the table and shook Kit’s hand. He noticed several other spots of color on her palm.

            “Sibella,” the younger sister took his other hand in a dainty handshake. Calatia smacked himself on the forehead.

            “That’s right,” he laughed, “I haven’t given you my name yet!”

            “Isn’t it Calatia?” Kit asked.

            “Oh no, no, no, no, that’s my last name.”

            “ _Last_ name?”

            “Some people who come from richer families are able to obtain or give themselves last names.” Saviha explained.

            “I just made one up one day to sound more professional.” Mr. Calatia scratched his head as a light chuckle escaped his chest. Kit nodded as he wondered if most kings gave themselves last names.

            “So, what is your _first_ name?”

            “Can you guess?” Sibella challenged him.

            “Well…” Kit thought hard about it. Both his daughters’ names were very elegant, fitting their disposition. He imagined Mr. Calatia’s name would serve a similar purpose. Both of his daughters’ names also started with S, so his name might begin with one as well. But then he also wasn’t very familiar with Hylian names, or even Gerudo names outside of his and Fae’s. Hard as his brain could wrack he could not think of a proper name.

            “Sssssssssssssssiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiloooooooooooooomaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaackaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaveeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssssssssssss…”

            “I can just tell you if you want.” Mr. Calatia said.

            “Yes, please.” As Saviha went to stew the broth Mr. Calatia leaned in close to Kit, whispering as though he didn’t want Sibella to hear.

            “My name is…” Kit stood at the edge of his seat, leaning in so close he could feel Mr. Calatia breathe through his nose. He could hear it forming on the edge of his lips, begging to be released, begging to be told for all the world to hear.

            “Tom.”

            Kit frowned. “What?”

            “Tom.” Tom Calatia shrugged with his trademark smile as he sat back in his chair.

            “Weird name isn’t it?” Sibella said to Kitorit as Saviha shot her a dirty look.

            “I’m not entirely sure where it comes from.” Tom admitted as Saviha brought the wooden spoon to her lips to taste it, adding a bit of salt when she wasn’t satisfied. “But a name’s a name and there’s not a whole lot you can do about it.”

            “Unless you decide to change it.” Sibella added.

            “You can do that?” Kit asked.

            “You can, but it involves a lot of paperwork and is generally a pain in the-”

            “Watch it.” Saviha warned her. Sibella stuck her tongue out at her in rebuttal.

            “Why,” She returned the conversation to Kit, “you thinking of changing yours?” He shook his head.

            “Oh no, I like my name.”

            “Good,” Sibella said, “I like it too.” Kit felt all the blood in his body rush to his face.

            A few minutes later the soup was prepared and Saviha had made four bowls as well as cut four pieces of garlic bread for all of them. The smell of the bread was discouraging to him at first until Sibella told him to try dipping it into the broth, which made all the difference as he scarfed the loaf down in less than a minute.

            “You must be starved half to death.” Saviha said. He nodded as he swallowed the last of the garlic bread.

            “I don’t think I’ve had a proper meal in weeks. Not since my birthday.” Tom and his daughters shared a worried look.

            “Has food been scarce for you and your caretaker?” He asked.

            “Not really. But it hasn’t been very good.” He found a large lump of tomato in his soup and scooped it up in his spoon, swallowing it soon afterwards. “We’ve been eating small birds, Octorocks, Tektites, anything we could kill. And it’s sort of hard to eat monsters like that cause most of them poof when they die.” The family was quiet as the young Gerudo savored his meal.

            “Well,” Saviha was the first to speak, “you don’t have to kill for your meals here.” (Well, he didn’t _have_ to.)

            “Thank goodness.” Kit took the bowl in his hands and brought the edge to his lips, slurping it with great satisfaction. It was, without intent, considerably rude but the Calatias could hardly blame him after what he described had been regular meals for him the past few weeks. Kit asked for some water and Tom went to get him a glass, leaving him with the two sisters who silently ate their soup and bread. Kit’s eyes wandered to Saviha’s hands again, and to the spots of color all about her dress. Finally he could no longer restrain his curiosity.

            “I’m sorry but, what are those colors on your clothes for?”

            “Hm?” She glanced at her outfit and understood. “I’m a painter. I wear this everytime I do and… I make a little mess.”

            “That’s an understatement.” Sibella said. A light went off in Kit’s mind.

            “Oh, is the painting hanging outside the door yours?” He saw Saviha’s eyes bulge and her cheeks gain the same shade of red he’d been trying to fend off.

            “Aha. That was, uhm… a drawing I made when I was five.”

            “Not just any ‘drawing’.” Tom came back with a glass for Kit. “It was the first piece of art you ever did!”

            “Yes, but I keep telling you, you don’t have to hang it on the front door.” Tom shrugged.

            “It gives the house character. And it’s a good conversation starter besides.” He gestured to Kit.

            “So, do you paint professionally?” Kit asked.

            “I’d like to. I’ve even sold a few paintings on Main Street. But the best I keep for myself.”

            “And that’s why we’re still broke.” Sibella joked. Saviha rolled her eyes before making an obscene gesture with her finger when Kit and Tom weren’t looking.

            “Go on, tell him what you do.”

            “Oh nothing much, I’m just a singer.” Kit was about to comment on this when Tom groaned.

            “‘ _Just_ a singer’! When did my children become so modest?” They laughed as Tom told the Gerudo how Sibella sang in bars and clubs all around the Castle City, from the lowest pub to even the most famous opera house in the Royal Quarter.

            “It was only one time, and I was part of an ensemble.”

            “Don’t sell yourself short, neither of you. Pure talent is too rare to discredit in this world.” Kit agreed with Tom as he wondered if he might be a good painter or singer if he had the time to learn either. He supposed a king didn’t have time to learn things such as those, not when there were other more important matters like the welfare of his people or business of the state (as Faera had put it once). But then maybe a king had so much free time that he would have to take up hobbies such as singing or painting. He wondered if the King of Hyrule was an accomplished singer in his moments of interim. He put the thought on hold as there was still one person’s occupation at the table that he did not know.

            “And what do you do sir?” He asked Tom.

            “Don’t bother with the ‘sirs’ Kit, just Tom will do.” He nodded that he would remember to dispense formalities with Mr. Calatia.

            “But to answer your question, I’m just a simple merchant.” His daughters exchanged a glance that Tom did not see. “I own a shop at District Five, on a side street off the Fashion Quarter.”

            “What do you sell?”

            “Oh all sorts of items. Cheap weapons, potions, fishing rods, lamp oil, rope, bombs, you want it and it’s yours as long as you have enough rupees. But I have been known to give credit from time to time.” ‘Time to time’ actually meant ‘a bit too often’ and it was one of the reasons the Calatias found themselves in a great deal of debt. Though none of them were eager to admit that to anybody, especially not a little boy they had only just met and had enough problems of his own.

            “So Kit,” Tom asked as Sibella went for seconds, offering to get some for the rest of the table which Kit accepted, “what exactly has brought you to Hyrule?” Kit thanked Sibella when she returned with the second bowl and thought about Faera before he answered. She would probably want him to keep their business as private as possible, but he saw no harm in telling these people. After all they had all been exceedingly kind to him, taking him off the streets and feeding him when they could have thrown him out and forgotten about him.

            “Fae and I were going to try and seek an audience with the King.” The Calatias were too stunned to speak for a moment. To think that such a young child would want to speak with the highest authority in the land and travel so far to do so.

            “The King? Whatever for?”

            “I’m not entirely sure,” Kit admitted. “All Fae told me was that we needed to speak with him. She mainly wanted to talk about our people, the Gerudo, and about Ganondorf.” A hush fell over the table, extending to the entire block by how little noise there was.

            “What did you say?” Saviha asked slowly.

            “I-I said, I think we’re supposed to try and talk with the king about Ganondor-”

            “Don’t say his name!” Tom said suddenly, frightening Kit. The merchant calmed himself as the tension around them seemed to thicken. “Forgive me, but no one will speak of… _him_ directly.”

            “Why not?” Kit saw a line of worry grow across Tom’s face.

            “It’s bad taboo.” Sibella answered. “An ill omen, a jinx, whatever you want to call it, to talk about him in this city.”

            “But why?”

            “A lot of people who live here are refugees.” Saviha went further into detail. “Hylians whose villages were destroyed by… _him_ , at some point or another. Including us.” Kit gasped and held a hand over his mouth in horror. Terrified at how callous he had been a few seconds ago.

            “So you mean Gano-sorry, _he_ destroyed your village? You saw him do it?”

            “They were too young to remember.” It was Tom who answered now. “We lived near the border of the kingdom. We’d heard about his return but we were too steadfast to leave our homes. Cocky was more like it, we thought we could defend ourselves from him and his army. We were wrong.” His face grew dire as he recalled. “We all lost something that horrible night. Our homes, our village… and I lost my wife.”

            Tom’s daughters’ had a sullen look on their faces to match their father’s. Saviha placed a hand on his shoulder which he took in his grasp, kissing her knuckles, giving her and Sibella a weak smile as well. Kit felt terrible. If he’d known the name of the Dark Gerudo would bring them so much pain he would never have thought to mention it.

            “I’m so sorry.” He said. Tom shook his head.

            “No, no, no, no, my boy, you have nothing to be sorry about.” He reached across the table and took his hands in his. “In fact I think you’re very brave to say his name without fear.” Kit looked into Tom’s weary eyes and thought about what the name Ganondorf meant to him. It wasn’t that he was unafraid of his competitor for the throne, it was just that Faera had always said it so casually. Without a hint of fear or reverence. Despite his power and despite his dark legacy, she had always made sure to tell him that he was just a Gerudo, the same as she or him. If you took away his dark image he was flesh and blood, and if he was flesh and blood he could…

            “I have to find Faera.” He said, changing the subject.

            “And we’ll help you.” Tom said to his daughters’ agreement.

            “But sir, I mean, Tom, you’ve already done so much for me. I can’t ask you to do-”

            “Nonsense.” Saviha interrupted. “It’s the least we can do.”

            “Not like we’re gonna send a kid out into the city all by himself.” Sibella said.

            “Until we find your caretaker, you’re welcome to stay here with us. Heck, when we find Faera you and she can stay here as long as you like.” Kit could not begin to express his gratitude to all of them. To find such a caring and supportive family that would be so eager to help someone they didn’t know. He would remember the kindness of the Calatias for as long as he lived, however long it may be.

            “For now,” Tom said, “I think the best thing for you to do would be to wait here in case she stumbles upon this area. In the meantime I’m going to make inquiries around town.”

            “Father, are you sure?” Saviha asked, glancing at Kit and wondering how she should put this. “You know there are some who won’t be so keen to help you.”

            “Then drat them, I say. If they don’t want a young boy to be reunited with his mother then their hearts are as good as the ants we trample underfoot.”

            “She’s not my mother, Tom.” Kit reminded him.

            “I know, but what so called decent person is gonna say no to reuniting a lost kid with his mother, eh?” He tapped his nose two times and winked.

            “Would you like me to come with you at least?” Saviha asked. Tom shook his head.

            “No my dear, go back to your painting. I’ll be fine. I’m sure you two don’t mind keeping Kit company while I’m gone?”

            “As much as I’d love to,” Sibella said as she rose from the table, stretching out her arms and yawning. “I have to go prepare for a show at the Ilia.” She gasped as she was struck by an epiphany. “Kit, if you find your caretaker you should stop by and see me sing. The club always gives my friends and family private box seating.”

            “That-that sounds great!” Kit felt the blood rush to his face again.

            “It’s a date then.” She smiled and kissed her father on the cheek. Kit didn’t know how Sibella singing had anything to do with raisins but he didn’t ask as she took her purse that was hanging on a rack near the door. “I’ll see you all tonight if you can make it!”

            “Be careful dear!” Tom called as his youngest daughter stepped outside.

            “Not to worry father dear,” she said in a practiced snobbish drawl, “Hilda shall protect me.” And with a kiss blown into the air she was out the door and into the streets, soon followed by Tom.

            “I’ll be back soon. And I think I may have a bit of a surprise for you when I return Kit.” Kit looked at him inquisitively.

            “What surprise?”

            “If I told you it wouldn’t be one would it?” He laughed at his own joke and bid them both goodbye before closing and locking the door behind him.

            “If he told me I could still act surprised.” Kit mumbled to himself. He hadn’t had many pleasant surprises in his life but whenever Loga stopped by and pulled the “surprise” card he never liked it.

            “Don’t mind him.” Saviha said as she cracked her knuckles. “He usually means ice cream when he talks about bringing home a surprise.”

            “What’s ice cream?” She laid a sympathetic hand on his head.

            “You poor child. There is much you have to learn about our culture.” She gave his hair a tussle with a warm laugh. He laughed as well and pushed it away much as he did for Loga. “Come on, I’ll show you the guest room.”

            Kit retrieved his sack and Saviha led the way up the stairs to a single hallway that led to four rooms; One at the very end, two along the wall to their right, and one just to the left of when they reached the top step. A window stood at the end of the hallway closer to them, overlooking the street below.

            “It’s this one.” She walked past the door to their left and to one of the two doors that stood side by side. Opening the one to the right revealed a plain looking room with a simple twin-sized bed and a wardrobe to its right. There was a window on the far wall that had a view of the houses next to them and let in the most light at this time of day.

            “It’s not much but, as you can see, it’s pretty spacious.” Kit let his sack slip from his arm and onto the floor as he ran to the bed, jumping on it bottom first, enjoying the way the springs rocked him back and forth.

            “I can’t even remember the last time I slept in a bed.” He said as he lay back on it, getting a view of the wooden ceiling and already seeing creatures and faces in the woodwork.

            “Do you travel a lot, you and your caretaker?” Saviha asked, trying her best not to tread on sensitive ground.

            “All the time.” Kit propped himself up again to face her. “We mostly sleep under the stars. We run into an inn every now and then but they’re pretty rare out in the Wilds.”

            “The Wilds?” Saviha could not help but exclaim. Very few Hylians knew a great amount about the Wilds, all they ever knew was that they should not venture into them. She could count the various cautionary tales about children who did so on a hundred hands. “You’re saying you’ve lived in the Wilds all this time?”

            “All my life.” He shrugged.

            “Wow…” Saviha always knew those cautionary tales were exaggerated but she could never imagine someone living a whole life outside the borders of the kingdom. “You are one exceptional kid, you know that?” Kit felt himself blush again.

            “Not really.” He had neglected to mention of his royal birth and title, though up to that point it was not deliberate.

            “So tell me,” Saviha said as she made herself comfortable against the bedroom wall, “how did you and my father really meet?”

            “L-like he said, we just met on the street.” Saviha rolled her eyes.

            “Yeah, he’s friendly but he doesn’t make a habit of picking up little boys off the street without cause. Come on, I won’t snitch on you.”

Kit wondered if he should tell her the truth of the unpleasant nature in which he met Tom. The bruises on his stomach still felt fresh and the fire in his assailants’ eyes still felt as though they were looming over him.

            “We met during a sermon.” He gave the minimal truth.

            “Oh _him_ ,” the vile in her voice felt poisonous.

            “Who him?” Kit asked.

            “Jhonhu, the ‘high priest’.” Kit would have mistaken her for saying the most foul word in the Hylian dictionary if he didn’t already know it was the priest’s name.

            “Do you know him?”

            “No and thank the Gods for it.” If she were Loga he imagined she would have spat in scorn by now. “Everyone knows who he is though. A philanderer using people’s fears to monger hate and make a quick rupee with it.”

            “It looked like a lot of people really like him.”

            “They like his message.” Saviha could not pretend to know why they did, never being one to gravitate towards the idea of Gods or Goddesses herself. “When the war began… he was the only one giving people any semblance of hope. The only one who wasn’t talking about the end days and fire and brimstone and all that. So no one complained or batted an eye when he started asking for more money or started spewing abhorrent attacks against anyone he thought was a threat to Hyrule. Or to himself.”

            “Huh…” Kit could still hear the crowd yelling into his ear, cheering for the high priest and calling out his name as if he were a God descended from on high. He thought of what the boys who attacked him had called him before they did. It was the same word Errol had said at a certain point during his sermon. “Desert rat.”

            “What was Tom doing there?” Saviha’s sigh was palpable.

            “My father’s a good man,” she spoke as if she were trying to remind herself more than convince him, “he doesn’t believe in the vitriol of Errol’s speeches. He’s just… he takes hope anywhere he can get it.”

            “Is everyone really that afraid of,” he caught himself before he could speak of the dark Gerudo, “of the war?”

            “If you lived here you would understand.” Kit wasn’t so sure if he could, or what his life would have been like if he had stayed and lived in or near Hyrule. He surely would have been killed long ago to ensure Ganon’s throne, but if he had remained and was as far removed from his intertwined destiny with Ganon as possible, would he be able to understand why so many people gravitated towards Errol? Would he be one of the children who cast stones at those who were different? The only thing he did know was that he could never be sure. He had lived his whole life away from the war and from all the fear. And the more he thought about that, the more he began to despise himself for it.

            “Well anyway,” Saviha clapped her hands together and stretched out her arms, “we’ve still got a fair amount of time to kill before Sibella’s show.”

            “Where’s her room?” An honest question, mostly to change the uncomfortable subject, but he only realized how peculiar it sounded after it had tumbled from his lips.

            “Down the hall,” Saviha answered thinking nothing of it, “this actually used to be her room but she moved to the former guest room on account of the smell.”

            “Smell?”

            “Paint fumes.” She pointed to the wall on her left. “I don’t have too much going on right now but when I get passionate the smell has been known to knock people out.”

            “Where are your paintings?” The young Gerudo asked, hoping to distract himself with them.

            “Oh, I keep them all in my room. Dad usually wants to hang them up everywhere he can, even at his shop, but I prefer leaving them there.”

            “Can I see them?” Kit sat at the edge of the bed and stared at her expectantly. It was hard for her to say no to those wistful eyes. She bid him to follow her out of the room and hesitated when she reached for her bedroom door.

            “Now,” she prefaced, “they’re not perfect. When I said I kept the ‘best’ for myself I didn’t mean to imply anything-”

            “Come on! Let me see!” The anticipation inside him was growing too high to think about being polite. Saviha let out a single sigh before opening the door.

            Kit’s jaw fell when he saw her room. It was a mirrored version of the guest room, yet all the paintings and half-finished canvases inside it gave the room a more vibrant feel. Every color, every mixed color, and every color he didn’t know could be mixed were found here. On the walls were several detailed paintings of the countryside, parts of the city, the view from outside her window, a painting that resembled the field of flowers that hung from outside the door, and even some detailed sketches of the human body.

            “It’s amazing.” Kit said, fully immersing himself in the wonderland.

            “And it’s a mess.” Saviha kicked an empty can of paint under her bed, which itself was covered with a year’s worth of sketches from her notebook. “I’m afraid the fumes from all the paint seep into the guest room too. I’ve practically built an immunity to it after all these years but if it gets bad I have some salts that can make breathing a little easier.”

            “Who cares about me, look at all this!” He stood in front of a painting of the Calatia family. It was as if he were looking at a pictograph rather than something someone created. The detail in Tom’s beard, Sibella’s lips, even the random paint blots that covered Saviha’s body. “You’re incredible!”

            “Oh…” Now it was she who couldn’t help but blush. “There’s always room for improvement. Especially with the hands.” She gave the offending appendages a look of disdain. Kit was not as educated in the matters of art as Saviha, so for all the flaws she could point out without even looking at them all he could see was one beautiful piece of work after another. Art that he thought he could never replicate even if Faera had trained him to become a master painter for all his life. As he observed them all one in particular caught his eye. It stood near the corner of the room, hidden behind work that she had meant to finish eons ago.

            “What’s that?” He pointed to it. Saviha followed his finger and performed an intricate dance around her canvases to retrieve it. She held it up and took it over to the bed, where she cleared away some of the papers to make space for it.

            “That,” she said, “is the castle.”

           

            Seated on a tiny island a little ways away from the mainland stood a magnificent creation. A monument to the prowess of Hylian architects, even back then. For after the first fall of Hyrule during Ganon’s seven year reign the original castle had been demolished, with the dark wizard’s fortress taking its place. After his banishment to the Sacred Realm the people of Hyrule at last found common ground with the royal family in that most, if not all, were without a home.

            It was Princess Zelda who had given them the strength to rebuild their once proud nation. With her father gone the princess thrust into leadership had the weight of the kingdom put upon her and had shown even before then that she would be willing and able to carry it. She lived among the people, helping the reconstruction process in any way she could, insisting that they finish the town before even thinking about the castle. The people would go on to repay her for this kindness, presenting the plan for a new castle that would exceed the old one in magnificence and in safety. It would be built near the sea, on an island that could not be accessible unless a bridge was built. And build it they did. A short distance away from where the ruins of Ganon’s fortress stood they began their long development of the castle, which would not see completion until the princess had long passed into adulthood.

            It was old now, its foundation sinking little by little as each century went on, the stones from whence it came long since eroded (or eaten by their Goron neighbors), and still it was a marvel. Very few were given the privilege of seeing it in person, the path being excluded to most of the common peasantry, save those with special errands or deliveries, but even seeing a replica was more than sufficient. And for the young Gerudo, he saw it as though it was in this tiny Hylian bedroom.

            “That’s the castle?” He stood near the edge of the bed to get a better view of the painting, almost falling on top of it when he got too close. The towers could kiss the sky, their blue tiled roofs and golden spires reaching to the heavens far above and beyond. He could see the bridge, and the gatehouse at the far end of it. Half of him could not believe such a structure could exist. That it was only a painting in a bedroom. But he would see it with his own eyes soon enough, inside and out.

            “Have you seen it up close?” Kit asked.

            “No,” Saviha answered, “I just used a pictogram for reference. I think I still have it…” She went to her bureau and opened one of the drawers, revealing a large book with the title “References” written in illegible cucco-scratch (she had been eight when she first made use of it). She could remember all the paper cuts she had given herself whenever she would pour through this book’s endless pages of glued pictographs. Animals from torn pages of exotic encyclopedias she’d “borrowed,” locations from any world map or book she could find, even shots of random people out and about the city. She came to a stop on the page with the picture of the castle and gave it a tap.

            “They took this around the same time they finished building it.” She said. Kit was amazed at how true to the picture her painting had been. Were it not for the brighter coloring and use of watercolors for the sea he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

            “It’s really good.” He said about the painting again.

            “Well thank you, I am pretty proud of it.” She hadn’t been up until this point (which is why it was hidden in the corner of her room). “I was thinking of trying something else with it. Maybe try and sneak my way onto the castle path and get an actual live painting of it, but I’ve had that idea for years already.”

            “Why haven’t you done it yet?”

            “Originally I was going to try and present it as part of a festival celebrating the Princess’s birthday and the arrival of spring but nerves got the better of me and I never got around to it. She ended up disappearing not long after that anyway so it didn’t make much of a difference.” Kit had not heard her past that key word.

            “Did you say princess?” He asked.

            “Yes, Princess Zelda.” Zelda. So it really is true, Kit thought.

            “Are all the princesses named after the one from the legend?”

            “Not all.” Saviha put the book back in its drawer and the painting back on its canvas in the corner of the room, which she moved a little ways out of the corner. “There have been a few rulers with daughters who prefer not to use it. It’s considered a great honor to bear the name though.” It was a thing with royals, she’d noticed, they had always been keen to name their heirs after themselves. So that their legacy could live on through their names or something like that. The last ruler, even, had been named Nohansen Lutolph XXIII.

            “Wait,” Kit said as the rest of what Saviha had said came to him, “she disappeared?”

            “One day a few years back we all woke up and an emergency proclamation was declared about her being vanished. To this day we still haven’t figured out what happened.”

            “What do you think happened?” He meant ‘you’ as in the entirety of the people of Hyrule but since they could not answer Saviha would do.

            “MmMmm.” She shrugged. “Some say it was a kidnapping, others say curse, and some say she just ran away.” Kit sat on the edge of her bed as he thought about it.

            “Why would she run away?”

            “Maybe she lost hope in the kingdom, or the war. Or her dad wasn’t giving her that much attention.” Loga had mentioned the king had become more preoccupied with the war than with other matters. Even his daughter, apparently. “It didn’t take too long for him to call off the search for her. Said we were wasting resources that could better be used to fortify the kingdom.”

            “That’s terrible.” Kit said. He saw Saviha’s eyes shift across the room as though one of the paintings was conspiring against them.

            “I don’t really speak ill of anybody, least of all royalty, but… yeah, it’s pretty terrible.” She sat next to Kit on the bed. “He still has a few spies on the lookout for her or so the grapevine says but to say he’s not doing much about it beyond that is an understatement.” Kit could not help but think of how he would feel if he thought Faera had given up the search for him and how a king, a father, should not give up on their child so quickly. But he also thought of the war, and of how a king has to put his people before himself. Even if he wanted to look for Zelda he could not afford to leave himself vulnerable to the enemy. Especially an enemy like Ganondorf.

            “They still do a festival in honor of her birthday every year,” Saviha said, “I think this next one coming up pretty soon will be her twenty-fifth actually, and I still try and think of new ideas that I could do. Trouble is once you feel like you’ve done one birthday gift so well it gets harder to try and top yourself each year.” Kit could not relate from personal experience though he was sure there were some out there who could. “Anyway it’s not even a birthday gift _to_ her, but just as a general principle of the matter. You know what I mean?” Kit nodded at first but then shook his head. He didn’t know when Faera’s birthday was so he could never get her something nice. She never gave him anything for his birthday either, except the usual training which he didn’t mind.

            “Well at any rate, that’s my life, and the plight of an artist. Not very rigorous compared to a princess or a king.”

            “But your problems are just as important.” Kit said.  “Even if someone is dealing with something huge that doesn’t mean your problems don’t matter.” He had learned this from Faera when he was very young, that as a king he should never view his subjects’ woes as less important than his. Any problems his people had were his burdens as well. Saviha was not one of his subjects, obviously, but she was still his friend and just as valuable.

            “You’re a weird kid, you know that?” He frowned, wondering if he had said something wrong before a playful nudge told him otherwise. “Say, would you like me to draw you?”

            “Will it hurt?” She laughed as though he were telling a joke. He wasn’t. He knew being drawn wouldn’t hurt but after so many years of so many various training exercises his immediate response when asked if he would like to do something was always along those lines.

            Saviha got her sketchbook and favorite stencil at the ready as she brought a stool in front of where Kit was sitting. She stuck her thumb out at him as she closed one eye, tilting it to her left and upright again.

            “Do I have to do anything?” He asked.

            “Just keep still.” He did as he was told. Steady as a rock, his body firm and his cheeks red, though not from a feeling of embarrassment this time. “You can breathe you know.” He exhaled with sweet relief.

            They sat like that for quite a while, the artist sketching away at the finer details of his face, and the King trying his best not to move and disrupt her. Still, sitting for that long, and after a long and rough morning, his eyes could not help but droop. He fought back as long as he could, telling himself to stay awake. It would be rude to fall asleep on her bed, even more so to do it while she was still drawing him. He tried to strike up random conversation as they had done the past few minutes but she kept him quiet. When she was in her element she could not be bothered to give the time of day to anyone. Not that he even knew what time of day it was, not when his left eye fell, and then his right eye, not as his body sunk onto the comforts of the warm, messy bed, and not as he was awoken by the sound of someone coming in through the front door.

            The light in the room had grown dim, reflecting the sky outside, and Saviha was gone, the stool put back in its proper place. He could hear voices downstairs, what sounded like the painter and the merchant discussing something. After berating himself for falling asleep he left the room and went down the stairs. Saviha was much more formal now than when he had met her earlier, having put on a dress that resembled the color of the sun at twilight. Tom was in a black waistcoat, sporting a red bowtie on his neck and dark pants to match them both. When he saw the young Gerudo he gave him his characteristic grin.

            “Ah, Kit, I have a surprise for you.”

            “Did you find Faera?” His hopes shot through his core.

            “Well, no, sorry to say.” His hopes were dashed harder than a boat against the rocks. “But!” He revealed a red dress robe from behind his back, with golden toggles along the chest and a sash that was a translucent light yellow. “I remember seeing this in a shop one day and I thought it might make for a pleasant outfit to wear to the club tonight.”

            “Oh father you promised-” Saviha was about to say before Tom cut her off.

            “I didn’t spend a penny on it. Ukkoh owed me a favor so this was me coming to collect it.” There was, of course, a back payment that went along with this favor but he did not mention this to either of them. “Go ahead and try it on, it should fit nicely over your regular clothes.” Tom stood him in front of a mirror that hung on the inside of the closet door as he tried his new robe for size. It was a remarkably snug fit, even if the sleeves were a little too big for him. For a boy his age and general size though, it would suffice.

            “Well, don’t you look dapper?” Saviha said.

            “Is that good?” Tom laughed as he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

            “It’s wonderful.” Wonderful, Kit thought. He looked upon himself and saw how the color of the dress robe seemed to shine even in this dim light. The way the bottom of it spun out when he did a twirl. It was the first time in his entire life that he actually felt royal, though he suspected anyone could fancy themselves a king while they wore this.

            The nearby clock on the wall let out a single chime that was no louder than the tapping of a musical triangle.

            “Half past six,” Tom said without looking at it, “we’d better get going.”

            “Is the Ilia far from here?” Kit asked.

            “Not too far,” Saviha made a quick glance at her reflection in a pictograph to fix her hair, “it’s in District Seven so that should only be about a fifteen to twenty minute walk.”

            “And we can be there in lesser time if we leave now.” Tom ushered them both out the door before Kit stopped him with a thought.

            “If Faera comes around here looking for me, she won’t find anyone home.”

            “Oh, right…” Tom ran his index finger and thumb through his beard as he thought. The hairs becoming wild and frizzy causing him to shock himself when he snapped his fingers. “We, OW! We can leave a note. Kit, why don’t you grab a piece of parchment and quill and whip something up real fast?”

            “I can’t write.” Kit said not expecting the gasp from them both. He had been taught how to read of course, in multiple languages, but Faera had never bothered with any spelling lessons due to the copious amount of training already on their plate. Plus she had never been one to adhere to the belief that the pen was mightier than the sword.

            “No matter,” Tom said trying not to offend the boy, “I’ll do it myself.”

Kit could never imagine someone like Tom moving as fast as he did when he went back into the house to find a piece of parchment from one of the drawers, then rush to another to find a quill, or how the friction of the speed he wrote was almost enough to set the message on fire, but before even two minutes had passed Tom had finished writing his note and stuck it to the wall underneath Saviha’s first painting.

            “There.” He said with immense satisfaction. “She’ll know to stick around if she misses us.” Kit had to squint his eyes to read some of the note as the last bit of sunlight left the sky.

_To ~~Mrs.~~ Ms. Faera,_

_We deeply regret missing you but I am very pleased to inform you that your ~~son~~ child Kit ~~or~~ has been safe and sound under our care for the past afternoon. If you wish to collect him (and I’m sure you do I don’t really know why I phrased that as a question (or is it an interrogative sentence?)), then you may do so when we return from the Ilia Club over in the Seventh District. If you would like to meet us there, however, that would be most agreeable as well. The address is 7520 Gaebora Ave. We should be there between the hours of 7:00 to at least 9:00. However depending on when you see this note it might not be wise to come to the club after all since we could easily miss each other and cause more panic. But then if we miss each other you know where I live so you can easily come back and collect Kit then. But since you don’t know your way around the city as well as I do it may take you awhile to find this house again but from what Kit told me you’re very resourceful so it stands to reason that…_

            The note went on for quite longer than that but Kit never got the chance to read it in full. He was gently pushed alongside Tom and Saviha as they began to head down the street and take a right through an arched bridge where several wagons passed above them. They had business wrapping up the last of the deliveries and excess stock from many of the shops in the Fashion Quarter, just as many of the people they passed, wearing their own evening finest, were returning home after a long day of shopping, work, or sometimes a little bit of both.

            The lanterns were being lit on each side of the street they were walking through, keeping the golden city from being plunged into complete darkness. The way some of the cobblestones sparkled during the day Kit had imagined they would glow even in the darkest night, to the point where it would be impossible to get a good night’s sleep. Where they were going, and where several others were heading as well, sleep was the last thing on their minds.

            The Ilia was one of the most popular clubs in the city, boasting good food, better drink, and always enjoyable entertainment. Among its notable features was the statue of a horse’s head that hung over the entrance, in honor of the original owner’s prized mare whom the club was named after (or it was his daughter’s horse, it was never made clear before the poor fellow died). The current manager, Muran, went for nothing but the best quality (at a reasonable budget) and to many his taste was impeccable. Tom found himself agreeing with him as they approached the Ilia and saw a portrait outside advertising “The Lovely Sibella Calatia” as their headliner for the evening’s festivities. In real life or in an artist’s recreation, she was always beautiful, Kit decided.

            The club was a two story building with a veranda that could seat a good many people (and they were always told whenever a show was about to begin inside by one of the friendly waiters). The building was one of the newer ones, painted a light cream color that accentuated the dark metal veranda and the dark red shades of the windowsills. The windows themselves were lit by dim candlelight, provoking an enticing mystery inside any passerby who wanted to see the interior from up close. Kit allowed his mind to be enticed as they approached the front door, where an usher dressed in a black and blue tuxedo stood at his post, hiding an exasperated soul behind a smile that exposed all of his teeth.

            “Good evening sir,” His tone was amiable as he spoke to Tom. “How may I help you?”

            “We have a special reservation, the Calatias.” The usher’s grin never lessened as he went through the many names in his guest book.

            “Ah, there you are. Ms. Sibella has put two of you and another guest, a Mr. Kitorit, in for the manager’s booth on house right, if you’ll kindly follow-” He froze when his gaze fell on Kit, who felt a bit of a chill run down his spine when he saw how quickly his false smile fade into a scowl.

            “Who is this?” He pointed a long finger at Kit’s nose.

            “This is our other guest, Kitorit.” Tom answered as he put both his hands on the boy’s shoulders. The usher’s head turned from Tom to Kit in rapid succession, against himself at the sight before him. It was one thing when a couple tried to take their child to the club, it came down to a simple apology that they could not accept any minors due to the presence of alcohol. It was another thing entirely to have someone like this child try to get in.

            “Excuse me.” He slunk into the club leaving them and a line of people behind them that was starting to get bigger. Kit looked at Saviha with a worried expression, his face asking her if he did something wrong. She gave him a confident smile that he was sure was meant to make him feel better. In another minute the usher had returned, with Muran the manager behind him.

            Muran coughed into a handkerchief as his own face bore a scowl that was in direct competition with the usher’s. He was better at hiding any personal feelings of disgust however, years of working his way up in this business had taught him to bury any semblance of disdain towards a customer under a genial smile.

            “Evening folks,” He began as he invited them to step out of the line, clearing the way for other guests who began to watch from the corner of their eyes and perk their ears towards their conversation. “I’m very sorry to tell you this but I’m afraid we won’t be able to accept your business at this time.” Tom’s head recoiled from the manager as though he were a snake aiming a bite at him.

            “Why ever not?” He asked. “My own daughter is performing tonight.”

            “And you should be very proud of her sir,” Muran slapped Tom’s arm giving a proud and hearty laugh. “Ms. Sibella is a jewel, an utter delight. But I still cannot allow you to enter the building tonight.”

            “And you still haven’t given me reason why you can’t.” Tom told him. Kit had slipped out of Tom’s hands and was now standing behind him and Saviha, trying to escape the side stares Muran kept giving him. The manager was a big fellow, burly arms and a tough expression. A thick moustache grew on his upper lip and what little of his hair that remained were all a pristine silver. He had seen much in his time, and something told the young Gerudo that he particularly didn’t like the sight of him.

            “Oh wait,” Saviha said as she turned from Muran to Kit and back again. “Is this about Kit?” Kit cringed, wishing so desperately he didn’t have to be in a situation like this again. A light in Tom’s eyes went off as his lips fell into a frown that beat out both the usher’s and Muran’s scowl.

            “It’s nothing personal,” The manager said, “it’s just that he may upset some of the other guests.”

            “FIE!” Tom shouted which made the other three and even some of the guests who were half-listening jump. “If any of your _guests_ have a grievance with this boy that’s their fault, not his!” Kit saw the Tom he met in Cathedral Square return with a vengeance.

            “I’m sorry sir,” Muran repeated, “but I can’t let you in. Not as long as the Gerudo is with you.”

            “His name, is Kit!” Tom shoved Muran’s chest with his finger, forcing the manager backwards a few steps.

            “Now there’s no need to be hostile,” He said as he straightened his tie, “Do I have to call the guard to settle this?”

            “I have half a mind to call them myself!”

            “Tom, please,” Kit’s voice was almost inaudible, “I’ll just go home.”

            “Silence, Kit.” Tom held a finger to the boy, his eyes never leaving the manager’s. “Either he comes in with us or _I_ will call the guard.”

            “Now be reasonable, sir,” Muran tried to lay a hand on Tom’s shoulder but the merchant pushed it away. “Look at it from my point of view before you bother the guard with something as trivial as this. Will they think it wrong of me if I put the security of my guests first? Will they see any reason why I did not have proper cause to deny the Gerudo entrance?”

            “He’s just a child!” Saviha said as she took Kit’s hand.

            “Stay out of this,” Muran said with growing contempt, “you have to ask yourself sir-”

            “DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO MY DAUGHTER THAT WAY!” Tom shoved Muran again, harder this time so that the manager fell to the ground. The crowd shared a collective gasp as Kit wanted nothing more than to bolt as far away from here as he could. Run away into the side streets and rid himself from all of this, let Tom and Saviha be rid of him. Muran looked up at Tom from the flat of his back, all pretense of civility lost. He was on his feet in a flash, ready to cast the first blow when a calm voice struck first.

            “What’s going on out here?” Muran spun around to tell the voice off when his anger was snuffed by none other than Sibella, standing at the entrance with a brown undershirt and black leggings, her hair preserved in a net and her makeup half-done.

            “Oh, Ms. Sibella,” Muran cleared his throat and dusted himself off, “It’s nothing, just a simple disagreement between me and a-”

            “My father.” She finished as she went to stand at Tom’s side with her arms folded. “So what is this little disagreement?”

            “I-it’s,” He stammered, “a matter of security, miss. I simply can’t allow the Gerudo in the club. Not to mention he’s a minor.”

            “The Gerudo,” Sibella said as she took Kit’s other hand, “is my guest of honor, and I want him to be treated as such.” Muran was beyond himself.

            “B-b-but miss, I implore you, we’ll be breaking protocol if we-”

            “Exceptions have been made before and they can be made now.” Kit was awestruck as he watched her tower over the now timid manager. “Unless you want to find another singer for tonight.” Muran was caught between a rock and a hard place. The budget had been spent, advertisements for Sibella had been up for two weeks in advance, and the club was packed with eager suitors who would step over themselves to even catch a whiff of her perfume. He could fire her later, but for now his hands were tied.

            “V-very well.” He coughed again. “They may all enter.”

            “And they may sit in the manager’s booth as we agreed?” She added.

            “Of-of course.” He snapped his fingers and the usher stood at attention, leaving his post which Muran replaced as he invited them to follow him inside. Sibella gave Kit’s hand a squeeze and a bright smile before returning inside herself, rushing to get the last of her outfit ready before the curtain rose in just a few minutes.

            The interior of the Ilia was lit by soft candlelight, one per table, with many guests, predominantly young men, seated in front of the stage expectantly. The upper right and left of the club were entirely composed of booths, and above the entrance was where many of the guests on the veranda could gather to watch the show from the balcony. The usher led them through the sea of tables and to a set of stairs on the right side of the house. They reached a hallway on top of the stairs and were led past five sets of doors before they stopped in front of the one marked with a star and the letter M. The usher took a key from around his neck and put it in the lock, opening the door and gesturing them all inside.

            “A waiter will be with you shortly.” Saviha was the only one who thanked him, Kit still too anxious to speak and Tom still too furious. “Please enjoy the show.” He left them with a bow and a sneer trying its best to disguise itself as a smile. 

            “I’m sorry.” Kit said when the usher’s footsteps had receded down the hall. “I didn’t meant to cause such a huge row.” Saviha shook her head.

            “Don’t apologize. None of that was your fault.”

            “Damn right.” He could feel the fumes from Tom as he sat drumming his fingers on the table. “We’re never coming back here after tonight.” Saviha agreed and a hush fell over them all. Even when a waiter came to them the only thing they asked for was three waters (the only item on the menu that was free), not a word spoken between them when the waiter left, when he returned with their glasses, or as the rest of the club resounded with indistinct chatter.

            Saviha would smile at him if she caught his eye and Tom could only grunt as he tried to calm himself down, leaving Kit to his own thoughts. He thought of Faera and how she may be going through the same persecution from certain Hylians, how she may not even find Tom’s house when there were so many to investigate. He thought of the Calatias and how they had all stuck their necks out for him, and how easily they might be cut if they continued to do so. Even as the rest of the club went about their own conversations and the murmurs of the incident outside had been passed over by some other hot topic of debate Kit felt as though every tongue was speaking ill will against him, every eye piercing through him.

            He was unwelcome here. Not just in this club but in the whole city. And the more he stayed the longer he would be a danger to those who stood up for him.

            Suddenly the house lights grew dark and a large circle of light hit the center of the curtain on stage. The audience applause was right on cue with the music, and Kit saw Tom pull himself out of his angry slump and sit at full attention as he watched the stage. Kit watched it too, as glued to it as every other patron, as Sibella stepped out from behind it with one graceful step after the other. The guests at the foot of the stage went insane, one step away from throwing bananas and excrement at each other.

            Kit couldn’t pull himself away as the music swelled and Sibella silenced the room with a single look. Her black dress full of sequins that sparkled against the spotlight. When the room had become as quiet as the grave was when Sibella began to sing. A slow and almost melancholy aria that cast a spell over the entire building, maybe even the entire district.

 

_Do you remember my hand_

_How you would hold it in yours_

_And could you help me understand_

_Why it still lingers at the door_

_Remember when you left_

_For the frontlines of a war_

_Can you repay me for your theft_

_For the one I still adore_

_The kiss you gave to me_

_So soft, so pure_

_The body left at sea_

_To drift forevermore_

_The letters never returned_

_The tears that I have shed_

_The memories I’ve burned_

_To put the past to bed_

 

            At the first mention of a bed the young men in front of the stage were drooling all over themselves. Howling with praise for the sultry inflection she gave every other word of the song, paying little mind to the understated music or the lyrics that suggested a deeper pain than Kit would ever know.

 

_Do you remember my ears_

_The secrets that we kept_

_Confessions of my fears_

_The stains from where I wept_

_Remember when we laughed_

_At jokes I can’t recall_

_It must have been witchcraft_

_To make me think I’d have it all_

_The kiss you gave to me_

_So sweet, so kind_

_Our names carved on that tree_

_How love had made me blind_

_The letters never returned_

_The tears that I have shed_

_The memories I’ve burned_

_To try and keep my head_

 

            The song in question had been written almost ten years prior, by a showgirl whose lover had been drafted into the war. That was the official history behind it at any rate, ever since it first crept up and gained popularity among sordid bar hoppers and those prone to wistful flights of fantasy. The best songs always spoke to a wide audience, even if this particular audience didn’t seem to understand the true meaning of it. Behind a beautiful voice and a desirable figure, there were few who were really interested in what they had to say.

 

_Do you remember my eyes_

_How it was love on first sight_

_Remember my surprise_

_We were gonna have a tyke_

_The names that we both gave_

_You wanted Ka, I said Inu_

_When you went to your grave_

_The baby left with you_

_The kiss you gave to it_

_Said ‘I’ll see ya real soon’_

_The fight I wouldn’t quit_

_Till the docs said it was through_

_The crib never built_

_The tears that I have shed_

_The love can’t be rebuilt_

_Alive… but truly… dead_

 

            The music slowly died as well, until the entire club burst into applause. Sibella took her bows and blew her kisses before returning backstage to prepare for her next number. The melody still lingered in Kit’s mind even as the ambience of drunken anecdotes were exchanged between fools and lightweights. He was taken out of his thoughts when Tom blew his nose into one of the napkins left for them on the table.

            “Oh,” He said as he dried his eyes with the same runny napkin, “that song always gets me.” Kit looked back at the stage where Sibella had been and repeated the lyrics in his head.

 

_The crib never built_

_The tears that I have shed_

            There were some things in this city he could never relate with. But there was a shared sense of longing he had with almost everyone in the Ilia that night.

 

_The love can’t be rebuilt_

_Alive… but truly… dead_

 

            He lay in the bed staring up at the dark ceiling for what felt like an eternity, listening to the slow ticking sound of the clock that hung on the wall. He couldn’t blame his newfound insomnia on the clock alone, not when he knew his caretaker was still out there and might be in trouble, or when he thought of how the rest of the evening had gone. They stayed and listened to all of Sibella’s songs, each more upbeat and jovial than her first, yet it was that initial song that had stuck with him the most. He had told her as such when they were walking home.

            “Well, it has that sort of power. I always thought it was pretty corny myself, and some of the rhymes are incredibly forced besides.”

            “I’m sorry you quit your job.” He had also said to her but she would have none of his sympathies.

            “Bah,” she said with a wave, “there’ll be other gigs. And they’ll probably pay better.” 500 rupees a night wasn’t exactly a number she would sneeze at, but it was true there were several businesses in town that actually paid better for entertainment (partially contributing to the economic recession the kingdom had only managed to dig their way out of because of the war).

            They spoke of the show and of many others shows they’d been to on the walk back to their home. The closest thing Kit could call a show he had seen was a time he and Faera had come across a gathering of dancing old men out in the Wilds, all naked, who paid them a handsome bribe in order to keep it a secret from everyone (from whom exactly they never knew). He hadn’t expected them to laugh as hard as they did at this, Tom having to support himself on a post and Saviha in tears as she tried to imagine the scenario playing out in front of her. Kit couldn’t help but laugh himself. Certainly not at the thought of all those naked old men, that still haunted his nightmares, but due to the strange and marvelous fact that laughter was most contagious when shared with people you were very fond of and in turn were very fond of you. If there was any doubt in his mind that the Calatias were only helping him out of some cruel joke or guilt, they were gone now.

            His heart sank when they returned to the Calatia residence only to find the note still attached to the door, without even a hint that someone had at least read it.

            “Now, don’t panic,” Tom said with enough practice to know when a child was about to break into inconsolable panic, “tomorrow we can start hanging up new signs around town and keep up the search. Right girls?” Saviha and Sibella began to list off all the places they could hang up signs and all the places newcomers might convene when lost but Kit wasn’t listening. He steadied his breathing, cleared his mind, focusing on what Faera would want him to do if she were here right now. What he had hoped he would not have to do alone and what he’d been unconsciously putting off with each new distraction the city had to offer.

            “I have to see the King.” The way each of them stared at him made him feel like he had said some other taboo he was unaware of.

            “I… don’t think the King will be able to help us search.” Tom said.

            “Not for that,” Kit looked off in the direction of the castle, “it’s like I said before, we came to talk to the King about our people… about the war. I can’t put that off to try and look for her, and she wouldn’t want me to.” The Calatias stood in awe as they listened to this not quite teenaged boy speak with as much resolution as a full grown man. As though the Kit they had gotten to know was someone else entirely.

            “Well,” Sibella said, “that’s easier said than done. The King won’t speak to anyone apart from his generals or the high priest, and his castle is like a veritable fortress.”

            “As most castles are supposed to be.” Saviha said out of the corner of her mouth.

            “Shut up, you know what I mean. Anyway, the road that goes to the castle is behind a huge gate, the castle itself is preceded by a huge gatehouse, and once you pass that there’s still a cavalcade of guards standing in front of the entrance. There’s literally no way for anyone to get in there, he’s sealed himself shut.”

            “And even when he did use to take audience with his subjects it would take weeks to schedule a concern in advance.” Tom said.

            “Then I’ll just have to find a way around the guards.” Kit said, hoping he sounded more confident than the ever growing queasiness in his stomach made him feel.

            “Are you crazy?” Saviha asked. “You try and sneak into the castle you are asking to get thrown into the dungeons. Not even the dungeons, the sodding oubliette!”

            “And not just that, and I’m sorry for how terrible this is going to sound, but I don’t think the guards are going to be too pleased if they see a Gerudo trying to sneak in to see the king.” Sibella added.

            “I know, and whatever consequences I receive, I’ll take them.” Kit had said these words plenty of times before. It had almost become a mantra for whenever he undertook any serious training from Faera (it was even the last thing he had said to her before his final test on his birthday). The Calatias thought of anything else they could say, anything they could do, to dissuade Kit from taking this insane idea any further. But Tom knew it would do no good. He recognized the look in Kit’s eyes, the determination in his voice. It was much the same with him when decided he was going to marry his wife when he hadn’t a rupee to his name.

            “Okay.” He said after a deep sigh. “Let’s do it.”

            “What?!” His daughters said in unison.

            “His mind’s made up and nothing we say is going to change it… so what the heck, let’s break into a castle.” He gave a bizarre shrug fitting a bizarre declaration such as this. Breaking into a castle and risking charges for treason or conspiracy or something like that that would no doubt land you a lot of jail time, the possibility of never seeing the sun again and the chance of failure overwhelming. It was quite an exciting prospect.

            “How are we even supposed to get past the first checkpoint,” Saviha asked, “and the one after that? And actually get inside the castle?”

            “It doesn’t have to be all of us,” Kit said, “I’m the only one who needs to see the King, I don’t want the rest of you to get into trouble for it, you’ve already done too much for me.”

            “We haven’t done nearly enough,” Tom put his arm around the boy. “If you’re going to do this we’re going to help you every step of the way.”

            “Even if we have no idea where to step without blowing ourselves up.” Saviha said, more out of concern for this suicide mission but also to agree with her father.

            “But do you have any idea where we’re supposed to begin?” Sibella asked as Tom unlocked the door.

            “I’d like to think we’re all pretty clever,” he pushed the door open and gestured them all inside. “We’ll figure it out.”

            “We can’t improvise our way through this.” Saviha said.

            “We won’t,” the merchant waited until everyone was inside and then poked his head out of the frame to make sure the other houses or city walls weren’t listening. “I think I have an idea to get us started.”

            It had been a good two hours since the details of the plan had been fleshed out by all four of them. Every possible contingency, every plan b, c, all the way through p, and everything everyone was supposed to do up until Kit could make his way into the castle. If he had his way he would be doing it completely alone but Tom and his daughters would have none of it. Leaving him wondering if having such loyal friends was a blessing or a curse.

            It all depended on how the next day went, and whether the plan would go as swimmingly as Tom had predicted it. So he remained awake, until the last of his strength keeping his eyes open had been spent, worrying that it would all go to ruin. For if there was anything his long training with Faera had taught him over the years, even the best laid plans could always go astray.


	7. Breaking and Entering

“I can’t believe we’re doing this, I can’t believe we’re doing this, I can’t believe we’re doing this…” Saviha repeated under her breath as they continued to walk down Main Street.

            The first part of Tom’s plan had been easy enough. Of the many favors he owed some of his fellow merchants, one of them involved taking over a delivery of vegetables from a grocer who lived in the Financial Quarter. This grocer was in charge of a good many of the city’s produce markets and arranged many of the shipments to stores all across the seven districts. They had spent most of the morning going through the list, delivering to shops along Main Street, Market Mile, Uhsrom Street, Papahl Drive, from independent stores to the larger emporiums like Honey and Darling’s. 

            Calling in this favor had been down to the wire, Tom rushing over to see the grocer at around midnight when all their schemes had been finalized, and the shipment due for delivery at six in the morning. Now with the sun at its zenith and the cart they dragged along bare of all but lettuce, they made their way to the Northern Gate in the Royal Quarter, where the path to Hyrule Castle awaited them.

            Kit was quiet most of the morning, wrapped in a cloak that was much too big for him (the size would be integral to a later part of the plan), keeping his head down whenever they spoke with one of the shop owners for fear of starting another argument regarding his race, and going over each step of the plan in his head so there was no chance he could forget any of it. This did not slip by Tom’s notice and the merchant had thus far let the boy alone. It was a big day for him and he was sure reminding him of that would not do well for his anxiety. But now that they were so close to the gate he couldn’t help but try and offer some subtle encouragement.

            “Nervous?” He asked.

            “Kind of.” As nervous as any child would be when meeting a king, let alone a child who most of the kingdom would not think twice at being punished in the most severe manners for doing so.

            “Have you thought of what you’re going to say to him?” Kit nodded. He had been going over the dialogue between him and the King as much as he had for the plan in the past few hours. He thought up a scene for every scenario he could possibly think of when meeting Nohansen Hyrule, ranging from being forced to the ground by Hylian guards and forced to hold several large stones on his chest until it burst, or being offered a nice plate of sweets and a cup of tea while they chit-chat.

            “And you know what to do if a guard or anyone else catches you before then?”

            “Is this hallway where the water closet is?” His spirit felt a little at ease when Tom laughed.

            “You’ll be fine.”

            “I hope so…” Kit felt anxiety course through him again, eating away at what little confidence he had.

            “You will. You’re a brave kid.” He smiled back at Tom as they drew closer to the gate. He thought of Faera and her confession to him the night before last’s that she was afraid as well. Afraid of the uncertainty of the future and what it held for them, and what she had said about how it was wise to be so. He was scared, petrified even the more they closed the gap between them and the gate, but he did not think less of himself because of it. No king had gone through their lives without fear.

            “Hold there.” They stopped the cart a few meters from the gate as one of the guards came up to inspect it.

            “State your business.” The other guard said as his partner picked up one of the lettuce heads.

            “Delivery for the castle kitchen.” Tom’s voice remained chipper, even after an entire morning of having to state his business here or deal with an angry shop owner there. There were few who could retain a legitimate positive attitude in the customer service business, and it unnerved many of Tom’s friends and competitors how easily he did.

            “Hm, I wasn’t informed of any delivery, were you?” The guard inspecting the cart asked his partner who answered with a groan.

            “Of course not. Nobody tells me nothin’.” He told them all to wait as he retrieved a logbook from a guard station nearby, leaving them all to avoid awkward stares or glances at one another. It was, of course, the guard’s business to stare at people he didn’t recognize and he did his service proud as he turned the heads of all of them, too uncomfortable to keep eye contact with him for too long. It was the adolescent these merchants were with that struck him the most. The others had at least been looking at him before they turned away, the child wasn’t looking at him at all.

            “You there, child,” Kit’s body seized up all at once, unable to even acknowledge the guard who took it as a show of disrespect. “I said child, look at me when I’m talking to you!” Kit knew as soon as he did look at the guard the situation would only escalate into something terrible, much as it had at the Ilia last night. Yet by not addressing him the guard was becoming angry, and he was putting the plan at risk of being nipped in the bud not anywhere close to the castle itself. It was only through the impeccable intervention of Sibella that the matter was forgotten as soon as it was brought up.

            “Forgive him sir,” she said standing between the guard and Kit, “my brother is a trifle deaf, a trait he was born with sadly. It gets him into trouble constantly but he means no disrespect, especially to you.” The guard, while initially distracted by Sibella’s beauty (even for a simple delivery job she had adorned herself with the same makeup she wore when Kit met her and dressed in the brightest blue work overalls (that she’d actually borrowed from her sister)) could not help but furrow his brow as he looked behind her and at Kit.

            “Brother?” He asked, noting the stark difference in their skin tones as most people tended to do when someone had a family member or significant other with a different shade than them.

            “Adopted.” She whispered so that her poor, almost deaf brother could not hear her. “By the way, where did you get that impressive plume on your helmet?”

            “Oh this?” The guard ran his thumb and index finger along the feather that stuck out from the top of his helmet as if it were a terrible cowlick. “It comes with every uniform, miss.”

            “That just can’t be,” Sibella said in soft disbelief, “I imagine you would have to kill the most terrifying Kargarok on Death Mountain to get even one feather that magnificent.”

            “Oh, well, haha, no, not a, noooo… really?” The guard sputtered as his whole face turned red. Kit could see Saviha roll her eyes from the corner of his as the guard exchanged more pleasantries with Sibella until his partner came back with the logbook tucked under his arm.

            “Here we are, ‘Delivery of twenty lettuce heads for castle kitchen at half past noon.’ Cutting it a little fine aren’t you?”

            “One of those mornings I’m afraid.” Tom said, his smile starting to get under the guards’ skin. The one with the logbook went to the gate and gave it three firm knocks.

            “Open ‘er up, Rom.” Kit could hear the crank of a multitude of gears as the gates slowly but surely opened up, revealing a dirt path in a small canyon that stretched forward a little ways before turning left. The guards gave them permission to head through and watched as they did. The one with the logbook certain that he had never seen these four make any deliveries prior to this and his partner watching the boy who still refused to stare at anything but his feet. Until he became distracted when Sibella positioned herself behind Kit, right up until the gate closed behind them.

            “Thanks.” Kit said to her when he heard the gates shut.

            “Don’t worry about it,” she rested her hands on his shoulders, giving one of them a pat of encouragement, “I guess I should be grateful men are so predictable for once.”

            They were all quiet again as they went along the path to the castle. The road twisted in several ways, left, right, left, forwards, backwards (a tactic used to disorient would-be invaders), until they came across the entrance to a dark cave. Inside it were several torches that guided the way through, and unbeknownst to them several soldiers as well (both to keep a hidden eye on people passing through and, again, as part of a defense tactic to ambush any enemies). The torches’ light was soon overpowered by the sun’s and they found themselves on the other side of the cave, where a stone bridge and railings on each side of the road awaited them, giving them clear indication that they were close. If that was not enough then there were always the gigantic spires with blue-shingled roofs to sway any disbelief.

            “There it is…” Kit said in awe, forgetting himself and hurrying on ahead up a flight of steps built on a small hill to get a better look. The castle was even more remarkable in person than he could ever imagine. Bigger and taller than any building he had seen back in the city, every inch of every painstakingly placed stone carrying a story of past generations of Hylian royalty. For every king, every princess, every century, if the castle could speak any of these Kit would never want to leave its side.

            “Uh, Kit,” Tom called from the bottom of the stairs, the front wheels of the cart resting on the first step, “we could use some help.”

            The Calatias and Kit took one side of the cart each, carrying it up the steps with all their might and setting it to rest every so often, careful the wheels didn’t hang over an edge and send the cart back down the stairs. There weren’t that many steps in total (sixteen by Kit’s count), yet each ascent brought a great amount of effort out of all of them.

            “Oh Gods,” Tom said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, “I really need to get back in shape.”

            “You’re not gonna make us all go to that ‘freestyle running’ class again are you?” Saviha asked while they caught their breath on the twelfth step.

            “Can’t, lost my membership card.”

            “Oh, what a shame.” Sibella said in a manner that implied she knew more than her sympathy let on.

            They took a longer rest than was probably needed when they reached the top but Kit didn’t mind, even as his arms ached and each breath he drew set his chest on fire. If it gave him an excuse to admire the castle a few seconds more he wouldn’t complain.

            “Pictures don’t do it justice, eh?” Saviha said, in as much awe as Kit was to see such a wonder in person. Tom and Sibella were lost for words as well, many people were when they saw the castle for the first (and for some the only) time.

            “How could you ever get used to a view like this?” Kit thought of the King sitting up in his throne room, looking down at the city far below him and at the sea crashing at the base of the island he sat upon. It had only just occurred to Kit that he had never seen the sea before. He could only see a glimpse of it on the top of the hill but from the moment he saw how the sun’s glimmer reflected upon its waves he was bewitched. He could not draw his eyes away from it, content to watch the ever changing tides for the rest of his life.

            Alas, it could not be so, for now the plan had to be brought back in motion. They brought the cart back down a flight of fewer steps (which would at least make the trip back easier with three people, Tom thought) and down another winding path that led straight down to the gatehouse, where two guards stood at the ready, halting them before they could come any closer.

            “State your business.” One of them said, almost in the exact tone and inflection his brother-in-arms had not ten minutes ago.

            “Half past noon lettuce delivery.” Tom said.

            “Ah, yes, the last minute kitchen shipment. Did you remember to send Adoh the memo for that?”

            “Eh,” the other guard said with a dismissive shrug, “if I didn’t he figured it out.”

            They sent them through the gate with little fanfare or trouble, not even a passing glance at Kit, still concealing every bit of his skin he could with the cloak. At least he didn’t see them spare a glance at him. One of them did, the one who had first addressed them, who watched as the Calatias and the disguised Gerudo made their way up another long set of steps leading to the main entrance.

            “That boy,” he said, “why is he dressed like that?”

            “I dunno, he’s bug-ugly.” His partner said as he made himself comfortable against the gatehouse wall.

            “It’s perfectly sunny out, the weather’s the warmest it’s been in weeks.”

            “Maybe he’s got the ague.”

            “Maybe…”

           

            Kit had to ponder how many times his mouth would be agape on this day alone as he and the Calatias entered the Great Hall. A giant room stretched out before them, with rows of columns to their left and right, supporting a balcony that led to a multitude of other locations throughout the enormous castle. Kit’s neck hurt the more he tried to look up at the ceiling, and at all the people running about to and fro on the balconies. They were zipping by them on the ground floor as well, servants and guards and royals alike. There was never a dull moment in the castle and never a moment to spare either. So much so that no one had even seemed to notice them coming in (which gave them all a little hope that the plan could still work). The only one who did approach them was a short man, shorter than even Kit, with almost no hair save for two long, powdered curls that covered his ears and glasses that made his eyes seem bigger than the rest of his face.

            “The kitchen delivery I presume?” Tom said that they were and the short man gave him a scowl. “You’re late you know.” Tom was about to apologize for it but the short man was not interested, only telling them to follow him to the kitchens. Up a much shorter set of steps (thankfully) they went and across the room where Kit saw its centerpiece up close. A statue, built from the finest stone with the finest Goron hands from Death Mountain, depicting a young man dressed in a tunic not unlike the one he wore, wielding a shield in his right hand and a sword he held aloft in his left.  It was the Hero of Time, standing guard over the castle of Hyrule even long after he had disappeared.

            Behind the statue Kit could see large portraits hung on either side of an archway that led somewhere outside. On his left he could see the Princess Zelda, surrounded by her courtiers (one of them being the short man with glasses that was leading them to the kitchens now), wearing a small tiara on her head with a tiny pink gem embedded on it, and a beautiful lavender gown with a blue banner going down the middle of it that bore the royal family crest, the Triforce. The Triforce was nearly everywhere in the Great Hall alone, at the top of the archway, underneath the statue of the Hero of Time, and on the outfits that several of the servants or royals were wearing. The King bore it as well, on the picture that featured him to the right of the archway. He was a sullen man, dressed in red with another blue banner bearing the Triforce hanging from his collar. Upon his head rested a magnificent golden crown with a stone as red as fire on it. His eyes followed Kit all around the room as they went under the columns and to the far end of the left side of the room underneath the stairs leading up to the statue and to the balconies.

            The short man led them to the very end of the columns and to the left, down another long hallway where they passed several more rooms and several more people before turning right on the fifth door, leading them directly into the kitchen.

            “Well, well, it’s about time!” A large man, who was presumably the head chef, said. He dismissed the short man with a violent wave and approached Tom with a large knife still in his hands, his shirt covered with stains of the previous night’s dinner, his breath carrying the distinct smell of a hangover. “I could have made three weeks’ worth of lunches waiting for you troll-snugglers to get your confusticated legs up here and in my sodding kitchen! We’ve got that vegetarian dignitary coming in tonight and do you know how many salads we have to cook for that skinny little tree hugger?”

            “N-no sir…” Tom said, more than used to receiving complaints from customers but never quite as rapid as this man’s. Usually they at least browsed the store a little or made unpleasant remarks about your work ethics and personal hygiene beforehand.

            “Never mind, it’s fine, what’s the count?”

            “The... count?”

            “The lettuce!” The Chef raised his voice again. “How many lettuce heads do you have?!”

            “Twenty-tree in total.” Saviha said, keeping her composure better than her father was.

            “Twenty-three?” The Chef’s bushy eyebrows were most displeased. “I ordered twenty exactly, I ain’t paying for extra.”

            “Whoops,” Saviha said with a small bow, “our mistake, we’ll just take the extra ones off your hands, completely complimentary.”

            “Fine, fine.” He said, much less eager to on a tirade against a young woman. The Chef snapped his fingers and two assistants began to take the heads out of the cart and into a container to be prepared later. The girls helped as well, Sibella and Saviha sharing a knowing glance that they passed on to Kit, who was standing at the ready by the kitchen door.

            “…seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty.” An assistant finished counting. The chef had already told him to recount it once before and was still unsatisfied at the final amount.

            “I thought you said there were three extra?” He held his huge finger to the empty cart, waiting for an answer from Saviha.

            “I guess we miscounted.” She said, just as Tom handed her the cloak Kit was supposed to be sleeping in.

            “Just saves all of us time, doesn’t it?” Sibella gave the Chef a grin that he did not return.

            “Fine,” He said repeating what must have been his favorite word as he took a bag full of rupees out of a drawer nearby. “Take it and go before I decide to complain to your boss.”

            “Thank you for your patronage!” Saviha led her family in a bow and followed Tom and her sister out of the kitchen with the cart, leaving the lettuce and the assistants at the mercy of the Chef.

            “Well, he was a basket of sunshine.” Sibella said as she helped her father push the cart.

            “You learn to live with it.” He always held on to hope that the more he said that the truer it would become.

            They were quiet as they left the castle, not even lingering in the Great Hall for what they knew would be the only time they would ever get to see it. They couldn’t afford to linger, not as they left the castle and went back down the steps to the bridge, or when they passed the guards at the gatehouse again.

            “Have a blessed day!” Tom said to them with a pep in his step. Sibella and Saviha gave the guards a warm smile as well, even as the latter struggled to hold the bundled cloak in her arms.

            “What’s wrong with the boy?” The suspicious guard asked before they had started to make their way back up the path.

            “Oh, he’s just tired. Sick, you know.” The guard ignored his partner’s smug mumbling. “We wanted to keep him home but he got so excited when he found out we were going to the castle and… well how could we deny him?”

            “How indeed?” The guard put the matter to rest in his mind, remembering a time not so long ago when he too was begging his father to take him to see even a peek of the majestic castle. So he thought nothing of it as the family rounded the corner and was out of sight, blissfully unaware of how a lettuce head had almost fallen out of the bottom of the cloak had Saviha not caught it in time with by pushing it against her stomach.

            “This is, urgh… harder than it looks.” She pushed the lettuce back in place with her knee and struggled to keep it there as they walked. “Sibella I think I’m gonna have to hand this over to you in a minute…”

            “You’re doing fine on your own.”

            “No, we take it in shifts! We had a deal!”

            “Hush, both of you.” Tom’s voice was so low they almost didn’t hear him. “You don’t know how many guards could be listening.” Their eyes shifted about the canyon walls, where no doubt several guards had taken up posts to ensure nothing could go without notice. Saviha held the bundle closer to her, rocking it before she realized what she was doing. Their part of the plan was nearly over. Now it all depended on Kit, and how willing King Daphnes was to listen to him.


	8. A Misadventure with Toilets

Kit managed to slip away while they were unloading the lettuce heads from the cart, when he was certain the chef and his assistants would pay no heed to him or to Tom who had already taken the three extra heads from the cart. Kit took off the cloak and gave it to Tom, who gave him a nod of encouragement and mouthed two simple words, “Be brave.”

            He was gone after that, just as the Chef’s assistant was starting the first count, trying to retrace his steps back to the Great Hall. Unfortunately, due to his newfound penchant for keeping his head down, he took a right down the hallway rather than left where he had come from, leading him further into the castle and into several angry servants.

            “Watch where you’re going!” A servant carrying a tray of hand towels said without even looking at Kit. It seemed as though there was a tray for everything in this castle, or at least everyone he bumped into had a tray in hand.

            “Augh! Dumb midget!” A servant with a tray full of sardines berated him. As did a servant with silver bowls, silver silverware, silver trays on silver trays, and thin mints. He would assume that gold would be the more popular element (and it was, but silver had seen a resurgence in popularity since fashionista Phenei Forosh declared it the “Silver Season”) but he did not have time to assume when another servant ran into him.

            “Oh for the love of- are you blind boy?!”

            “N-no…” Kit was unintelligible as he kept his eyes to the floor and did his best to sidestep the servant before he noticed anything out of the ordinary about him.

            “Wait a minute!” Too late. Kit froze on the spot as the servant, a man about the same height as the one who had taken them to the kitchen but younger by a good few decades, came up to him, trying to get a look into his eyes as the young King did all he could to avoid them.

            “Who are you?” The servant asked, “State your business.”

            “I-I-I…” Kit thought, not an easy feat in his current situation, and his mind reverted to the first thing he was told to do when the plan went awry. “I was looking for the toilets?” The servant stared at him and his eyes began to squint so hard it looked as if they’d receded into his skull. Then his face lit up as he gave a slow nod.

            “Aaaaaah, yes,” he said, “You’re one of the plumber boys.” Kit had no idea what a plumber was (he had only just learned what a toilet was the previous day) but he was not about to reveal his true intention for wandering the castle alone.

            “Yes, exactly!”

            “Funny, I thought we only hired two of them.”

            “Oh, I’m one of their cousins,” he lied, “I’m seeking an apprenticeship under them.”

            “Hm, well they do like to keep things in the family.” Nepotism aside the servant’s face fell into a frown again. “But what are you doing in the lower halls?”

            “I-I got lost.”

            “Hmph, of course you did, the help always does.” The servant put his arm around the young Gerudo and turned him around, pointing down the hallway. “Go down here and you’ll come across a staircase. Go up two levels and then turn left on the hall, take another left and then a right and you’ll be at the upper castle water closet. And you’ll want to work fast, the Golden Goddesses know those generals can’t hold their spicy cuccos.”

            “Generals?”

            “In the audience chamber, of course.” Kit felt the blood from his heart accelerate when he heard this.

            “The audience chamber? It’s that close?”

            “You would know if you bothered to memorize the castle layout. I mean how hard can it be; forty bedrooms, two ballrooms, seventeen bath chambers, one garden, the barracks, the kitchens, that weird room Uncle Albert locks himself in on Tuesdays, the cellars…” He named where each of these locations were in the castle from memory as he went back down the hallway where Kit had come from. The young Gerudo thanked him for telling him where to go but did not receive any sign of welcome. He was too busy to wait for one at any rate, he took the man’s advice and went down the hall, coming across the staircase on the right side. He followed it up two floors and went past the two left turns and a right until he was certain he had found the audience chamber. If nothing else because of the enormous doors near the middle of the hall and the two guards keeping watch over it.

            He hid behind a column as one of them looked his way. He had seen a few other guards taking positions by certain doors on his way up here but none had paid him any mind thankfully. These two would probably be a different story by the look of them, and he could think of no excuse or lie that could get him past them and into the chamber, where the King was no doubt discussing plans about the war. Now more than ever would be a good time to meet with him, offer him his and Faera’s services. Maybe luck was on his side today after all.

            With the two guards showing no signs of being drawn away any time soon he did not hope for luck. Fae would be the first to tell him luck would only get you so far. True greatness came to those who sought it, rather than waiting for it to arrive to you on a silver platter (only now that he had seen many silver platters being carried by the castle staff did he fully understand that metaphor). And so Kit set out to obtain his greatness and converse with Daphnes Nohansen Hyrule king to king. First, he crept along the wall and kept out of the guards’ vision, examining every inch of the hallway to formulate a plan, and then went into the water closet.

            It was a spacious room, decorated in blue tile with triangular golden patterns meant to resemble the Triforce, of course, and several stalls where several toilets lay in wait, eager to fulfill their own destinies. One toilet would have to wait a little longer as its lid hung askew and the water inside it was a shade of brown that smelt terrible. Kit had to plug his nose and look away in order to hold onto what little breakfast he had eaten that morning. Whoever his masters were they had not made their way around to this water closet as of yet, a fact he was more than fine with. Taking the stall farthest away from the offending one he sat on the toilet (closing the lid and laying out some paper on it first when he noticed some wet spots) and began to think. How could he lure the guards away, how could he do it without attracting attention to himself, and perhaps the most intrusive thought of all, what happened to that toilet to make it look and smell so terrible?

            And, as they often do when one is sitting on the toilet, an epiphany came to him. In the form of a simple flush.

 

            “Do you hear that?” Biras, guard of the castle for seven years, asked.

            “What?” His partner, Jazo, guard for six years, asked in turn. Biras held a finger up for silence as they listened to a slow, distant sound coming from down the hallway, on the other side of the water closet door.

            “Is that… water?” Biras told Jazo to stay at his post as he went to check it out. He approached the door with caution, noting how the closer he got the more his iron boots were becoming emerged with water.

            “Oh no, not again.” He opened the door and a rush of water poured into the hallway, knocking the guard off his legs and falling waist-deep into the brown liquid. “Oh for the love of-AAAAAW!” Biras struggled to his feet and went into the water closet, shouting profanities at the toilet as he ran about the room trying to find something to stop it. Jazo could not see his partner, only guess at what he was doing from all the noise. Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant.

            “Biras,” He called out, “are you okay?”

            “I’m fine! Oh son of a-” The clang of metal against tile and water suggested that Biras had fallen over again. And still the water came flowing out of the room, coating the carpet with water and stains that would take years to come out.

            “You sure you don’t need any help?” Jazo called again.

            “Just stay where you are, I can-AGH!” Another fall. A nasty one by the sound of it. Jazo waited for more curses to flow out as quickly as the water was but none came. Not even any sound of furious stomping or internal screaming.

            “Biras?” No response. He called for his partner again, and again, becoming worried when he did not answer after a fifth call. “Oh, shoot.” Jazo ran for the water closet as fast as he could without tripping into the water himself. Knowing his partner he’d probably slipped and hit his head on one of the toilets or the sinks and then no doubt he would land face first in the horrible muck. He was soon taking over Biras’s battle against the overflowing, broken toilet as his unconscious partner was at rest against the stall farthest away from it, where Kit was long gone by this point.

            He had been quick, flushing the toilet and then breaking the rope that hung from the ceiling to ensure the flow would not cease anytime soon, and then he had retreated back behind his column that led to the hallways from whence he came. When both the guards had left their posts he did not waste more than a second to get to the door, having to stretch his legs to their limit in order to reach the doorknob. With a click and a push the large door opened, and Kit let himself into the audience chamber.


	9. The King and the Celebrity

The audience chamber was as lavish as any other room in the castle and more. The carpet leading from the door to the throne was the brightest and somehow darkest red Kit had ever seen, the walls made of solid gold and the ceiling painted with murals of past kings and their lineage. On the walls were portraits of every known king of Hyrule dating all the way back to centuries before the Hero of Time. The Princess Zelda who had rebuilt her kingdom had never even dreamt of an audience chamber this ostentatious, but when King Lutolph had brought forth the City Plan and built a new castle from the ground up an ostentatious audience chamber was one of his first requests. Humility had never been one of Lutolph’s strong suits (one of the vices that led him to an early death at the age of thirty-three) and many of his successors shared that iniquity.

            For a moment he almost thought he had been transported to another place altogether, far away from the castle and from Hyrule itself. Beyond the farthest outreach of the Wilds and to a glimmering room where time had no meaning and destiny rose to meet you. Reality was quick to reestablish itself to him as time still ticked on and it was the King who rose to meet him instead.

            King Daphnes was a man of impressive height to even a full grown adult, and even when he was standing on the far end of the room Kit felt intimidated by his stature. This was not helped when the generals rose from a large table that had been placed at the bottom of the steps leading up to the throne, all of them about a head smaller than the King and all of them looking at him.

            “What is this?” The King’s baritone voice sent ruptures throughout the room, pounding against the young Gerudo’s chest. He took a bow as he did his best to compose himself.

            “Your majesty, I-” A guard covered in filthy toilet water grabbed him from behind, forcing him to the ground and almost breaking his nose for how hard he was pushing against his skull.

            “So that’s your game is it?” Biras whispered into the boy’s ear as he dug his elbow into his spine. “Maybe I should dip your head under that toilet for a little while eh? Then we’ll be halfway even!”

            “That’s enough Biras!” Biras was on his feet in an instant, leaving Kit to catch his breath as his mind flashed back to the day before. On the ground, much as he was now, cowering and trying to shield his chest from impending kicks and stones.

            “What is the meaning of this?!” One of the generals who wore a monocle asked. His outcry was the spark for the other generals to shout as well.

            “An intruder?” A general with an eyepatch asked.

            “A spy!” Another one whose nose bore a terrible scar declared.

            “An assassin!” Said another who was the shortest of the lot.

            “Whatever he is, lock him away at once Biras! And let us get back to business!” Said the last general, he smelt of strawberries.

            “Wait.” The generals went silent at the King’s command, his voice the only tranquil one of the lot. “Bring him to me.”

            Biras picked Kit up by the collar of his tunic and pushed him in the direction of the table, walking a few paces behind him to make sure he didn’t run. Kit wasn’t sure he had the mental or physical capacity to run at the moment. His legs were shaking, his stomach in a knot, his heart feeling like it would explode inside his chest with each step closer to the table and as the faces of the gentlemen around it became clearer. Six in all, five generals and one monarch, old in age, some with hair more gray than others, and the majority of them were staring at him with looks of utter disgust frozen in their eyes and faces (a look he had come to recognize all too well in his short time in Hyrule).

            The King’s was the only face that he could not read. He did not frown, or scowl, or turn up his nose even as the smell of Biras’s armor came to his nose unlike his comrades. Instead his eyes were abnormally still, a dash downwards every other second as he looked the boy over. Out of all the faces he had seen Hylians give to him, this was the one that for some reason unsettled him the most.

            “You’re wet, Biras.” The King said to the elephant in the room. The generals began to whisper to themselves about the state of the guard whose armor was soaked from head to toe as Biras struggled to find the proper words.

            “Th-the toilet in the water closet down the hall, my lord, it… it was overflowing and-”

            “Then I suggest you call the plumbers.” Biras could only stammer in response.

            “B-b-b-but, your highness, it was hi-”

            “Leave us Biras.” The guard had many more words to say about the boy and about the toilet but held his tongue, giving his majesty a bow and turning to leave. “And change your armor as well.” King Daphnes said to him just before he left the chamber. Biras nodded and left the audience chamber in a silent huff, shutting the giant doors behind him.

            When the generals had had their laugh the King turned his attention once more to Kit, who stared back into his aging eyes with awe. The King was as mighty as his portrait in the Great Hall did suggest, with a red cloak that appeared almost too big for him as it covered his hands under its sleeves. The cloak was open, exposing his broad chest and a blue shirt with broad white lines that curved upwards, reminding him a bit of the sea and the tides that had hit the base of the island this castle stood upon. He wore white pants held up by a belt with an impressive buckle that bore resemblance to his crown, featuring what looked like wings spreading out to the left and right with the Triforce in the bottom center. His collar made his head appear larger than it really was, though his great, white beard and moustache did their part in this illusion. Kit could not draw himself away from the King’s gaze, and yet he could not muster the words of which to speak to him.

            “Who are you?” It was the King who spoke first. The boy was still caught in an almost trance but he had enough fortitude to give him his name.

            “I am Kit-Kitorit sir. I represent my people… the G-Gerudo.” The generals spoke out again.

            “I knew there was something wrong with him!” The general with the eyepatch yelled.

            “A spy! Just as I said!” The one with the scar added.

            “Ganondorf must have sent him to kill you, your majesty!” The short one stood on his chair and pointed a crooked finger at the boy.

            “Or to send you his demands!” The one who smelt of strawberries said.

            “Call back the guard, throw him out!” A hand was all King Daphnes needed to quiet them, his eyes still on Kit.

            “You are a Gerudo?” Kit affirmed that he was with a small nod. The King went quiet himself as everyone else in the room were anxious to see how he would react.

            “Gerudos are not born male.” He said finally.

            “Not for a hundred years, sir.” Kit remembered his history well. As did the King who gave a slow nod.

            “Then you must be the King of the Gerudo.” This was met with a murmur between the generals as Kit gave his confirmation.

            “Yes, your majesty. The true one, anyway.” It had almost not felt real before he said this. There were times when he had called himself a king or had thought about his title as one, but up until this point he could not think of any time he had truly said it of himself to anyone besides Faera. It did not make him feel any more regal, but it gave him a greater sense of the weight he carried on his shoulders. He only hoped he would not collapse under it.

            “The Gerudo King is dead!” The monocle general shouted. “Ganondorf killed him when he was only a baby!”

            “That’s right,” the strawberry lover said, “he butchered his own people and killed every last child to ensure it!”

            “My teacher, Faera, hid me from him in the Wilds to save my life.” Kit surprised the generals (and himself) by speaking directly to them. The news that his entire race may have been killed because of him made his heart heavy but he put his personal feelings aside, Faera would expect no less of him. “She would be here with me now if we hadn’t been separated through my own foolishness.” Kit was careful to pick out which words to say to the gentleman at the table. He had to show a certain amount of respect while still asserting his right to speak, as Faera had told him. It was only about a year ago he was being taught in the proper manner of which to speak as a king. He remembered thinking the lessons were so tedious at the time, and now he was thanking Fae endlessly in his mind.

            “And what is it you have come to discuss?” The King’s question was met with more surprise from the generals, who had expected Kit to be tossed into a jail cell and promptly forgotten by now. The Gerudo King still felt the tremor in his legs as he stood before them but he stood firm and tall, imagining himself as tall as King Daphnes for a fraction of a millisecond.

            “I’ve come to discuss your battle strategies against Ganondorf…” He had more to say but his voice was overpowered by the outrage from the generals.

            “IT’S A TRICK!”

            “HE WANTS TO SELL OUR SECRETS TO THE DARK WIZARD!”

            “THAT DESERT RAT WILL SLIT ALL OUR THROATS AS WE SLEEP!”

            “KILL HIM NOW! DON’T GIVE HIM THE CHANCE!”

            “SILENCE!” All were taken aback at King Daphnes’s cry, Kit wondered if the entire castle had heard it for how loud it still rang in his ears. “Take your leave, all of you.” His voice was calm again but much like the eye of a storm it only promised a minimal sense of safety. The generals stood, one by one, and left the room. One or two gave the Gerudo a glare as they passed by him but the majority of them kept their head down, for fear of invoking the King’s wrath a second time.

            The two Kings were alone in the audience chamber, both stagnant as King Daphnes tried to massage his temples and quell his anger. Kit wasn’t sure if he should say anything but thought he might as well finish what he was going to say.

            “A-as I said, your majesty, sir… I’ve come to discuss what your current strategies are against… the Dark Wizard.” He still felt strange addressing Ganondorf by his name, even though from the sound of it it held no terror over the King or his generals. “A-and also,” He knelt, “I offer you my services, to honor the original pact made between our kingdoms.” He closed his eyes as he awaited an answer that did not come. The King only stood and watched the boy kneel before him. The rightful King of the Gerudo, swearing an allegiance to oppose the pretender to the crown. Such an allegiance might prove beneficial in the grand scheme of the war. And yet…

            “The last Gerudo King to swear fealty to the King of Hyrule is the very reason you kneel before me now.” Kit’s eyes were open and his heart was racing. Had he said something wrong, done something to offend the King (apart from breaking into his castle and private war meeting)? He remained on his knee and kept his head to the floor, until the King bid him to stand. “Come,” he said with a gesture of his fingers, “look here.”

            Kit approached the table and took a seat across from the King. He saw a map of Hyrule laid out before him, with the city and castle to the north marked with a marble white chess piece. To the southwest of the map stood Lake Hylia, where what had once been an enclosed body of water now had expanded into the opening of a vast sea that stretched out to far beyond any known charted area by the Hylians or Gerudo, separated from the natural spring water of the lake by a dam that had recently been destroyed, signified by a fallen rook. Near the lake’s shore he saw several replicas of wooden boats with golden sails meant to mark the King’s armada. On the edge of the map where the lake met the sea he saw black ships, with arrows pointing at the King’s ships. Many of the borders of the map were marked with marble black chess pieces as well; The Gerudo Valley in particular was infested with it, but at the very north of the map where Death Mountain lie and to the east in territories named Zora’s Domain and Kokiri Forest they were there as well. And all arrows pointed beyond those territories and to the city itself, and no doubt the castle that lay beyond it.

            “You see it clearly don’t you Kitorit?” King Daphnes had taken a place at Kit’s side to show him the pieces of interest. “Ganondorf seeks to entrap us in the city walls. Cut us off entirely and limit any potential resources we can receive from any neighboring kingdoms.”

            “And what are you going to do about it, sir?” The King held the chess piece that represented the city aloft, so that the sunlight that came through the stained glass windows made it shine brighter, before putting it back in its place on the map.

            “Wait him out.” The King made his way up the steps to the throne as Kit was left to wonder what he meant by that.

            “Sir?”

            “If Ganondorf thinks his blockade will be the end of us, he is a fool.” Kit could hear King Daphnes’s bones creak as he sat down. “There are other ways to bring food and water into the kingdom. Other passages, other deals, I have ensured our survival for years to come, and the people will prosper as they had before the war ever began.”

            “But sir,” Kit got down from his chair and went to the bottom of the throne steps, “some of your people are not prospering. I’ve seen them myself, in the second and third districts especially, they’re poor and homeless with barely any food. Most of them don’t even have jobs.”

            “And what would you have me do about that?” The King’s question felt like an arrow piercing his heart. “Am I to enlist the poor into my army, some of them will not fight. Am I to give them free food, free homes, that is not fair to those who are already laboring hard for each privilege. Am I to give jobs to each and every person in the poorer districts of the city, factories would be overcrowded, there would not be enough money to compensate each wage.”

            “But…” Kit thought. “There has to be something.” The King shook his head.

            “You have much to learn about being a leader young Gerudo. Do you think it pleases me to know that some of my people are suffering, that many are dying even as we speak? This is war, Kitorit. And war brings casualties.” Kit could not hide the look of disgust on his face.

            “Casualties?” He remembered to keep a stolid face when the King raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reaction.

            “Everything is as I have planned.” The King stood to his feet again, folding his hands behind him and moving to look out one of the windows. “Though I have made to make sacrifices and level the good and the bad of each decision, I am confident that this is the path the Goddesses have chosen for me.”

            “But how do you know for sure?” Kit remained between the table and the steps, the echo of his voice enough to reach the King from their distance. “I can’t say I know anything about the Goddesses myself, but what if they have another plan for you? For the kingdom?” King Daphnes kept his back to his fellow monarch, watching the sea perform its predictable and random dance below. Even when the room was as calm as it was now he could still hear the rants and the shouts about war strategies and economic debates between his generals and counsels. Often when they would squabble he would find himself at this window, and fixing his sights down at the water below. There were few things that could calm him, but he had always felt a soothing connection with the sea.

            “I have to preserve Hyrule how I see fit.” He said to the tides. Kit could see that the King was tired of talking but he could not relent, not when he had come so far and already let Faera down not an hour after they had first came to this kingdom.

            “But your majesty,” he said, “we can do it together! We can combine our efforts and face Ganondorf, if we can only-”

            “How exactly do you intend to face Ganondorf young man?” The King turned to Kit expectantly, but the Gerudo could not give an immediate answer. For all his training, for every monster he had fought and every enemy he had studied, there was nothing that could prepare him to face Ganondorf in person. And just as the revelation that he truly was a king had only come to him upon saying it aloud, so it was true that King Daphnes’s question made him learn the truth of how blind he really was.

            “You did not think a twelve year old boy who spent his entire life in the wasteland could go up against a foe with Ganondorf’s dark power and live to tell the tale?” He kept at a slow gait as he returned to the throne, his cold stare burning into Kit’s very soul. “There has only been one who has ever been able to contend with his might, and you have none of his power.” Kit thought of the statue down in the Great Hall, and how his own legacy was on the path to being forever in its shadow.

            “I tell you this for your own good, son,” the King sat down in his throne once more, “Find your teacher and leave Hyrule. You both can hope for a longer life once you are long gone from here.” Kit said nothing in return. All he could do was turn his head away to hide his anger and his shame. “Jazo.”

            At the King’s call one of the giant doors opened again, this time Biras’s younger partner shuffling in.

            “Yes sir.” He said with a salute.

            “Escort Kitorit back to the city.” Jazo could not bury his confusion.

            “The city, your highness? Don’t you think-”

            “Go.” The King said with a wave of his hand. Jazo gave another salute and laid a much more gentle hand than his partner’s on Kit’s back. “Come along,” he whispered and led Kit out of the audience chamber.

            “Heed my advice young Gerudo.” King Daphnes’s voice echoed throughout the chamber just as Kit and Jazo left, the large doors shutting behind them.

            Down the hallway the toilet had stopped overflowing and signs had already been put in place to warn every passerby of the wet carpet. The staff worked fast in Hyrule Castle, but Kit’s mind wasn’t on their efficiency. The only thing that was on his mind was what he thought of as the worst word in any tongue known to Gerudo or Hylian. Failure. He had failed to do what Faera had brought them here to do, what Tom and Saviha and Sibella had risked their freedom to sneak him in there for, and he had failed in what was one of the more important duties of being a king. He could not justify it, explain it, or wrap it in any way to make it positive. The scene that had only taken place a few minutes ago was on endless repeat in his mind and he could not bear to think of what Fae would say to him if she were here now.

            Jazo would give Kit the occasional forced smile whenever the Gerudo looked back at him as they made their way down the steps of the castle, but it did him no good. Even as he was certain he would never see the Great Hall again he could not savor the room or its splendor as he had when he first came here over an hour ago. Many servants and guards came and went, this way and that, up and down, as Jazo and Kit went towards the exit. Just as they had gone down the steps and past the symbol of the Triforce that lay on the floor, Jazo put his hand on Kit’s back again, veering them both to the right and towards the hallway underneath the columns.

            “Uh,” Kit held a finger behind them as Jazo went on, “the exit’s that way.”

            “Is it?” He didn’t like the sound of that. As Jazo led them down hallway after hallway the young Gerudo began to grow nervous, his eyes anxiously shifting from person to person hoping they would stop them both and ask what the guard was up to. But alas, as it had been when he was trying to make his way to the audience chamber no one could spare a moment to focus on anything but their given tasks.

            They stopped in front of a door near the very end of a hallway that was discomfortingly empty. Jazo produced a ring full of keys from his pocket and went through them all before he found the one that would fit the door. It was black and crooked, much as the door handle as, and it made a terrible shriek as it entered the lock. He gave the door a push and Kit could see a much more narrow hallway that led downwards. Down into an abyss in which no light ever hoped to shine.

            “What’s going-” A hard blow to the back of his neck kept him from asking any other questions.

 

            “Wwwwwhhhthis?” Kit could hear voices as he came to.

            “Mmmmmmmmmmastle.” A monotonous buzz rang throughout his head as the world came into vision.

            “Eeeeeeeeoooooooeeim?” Either his vision had failed him as much as he had himself or the world around him was very dark, lit only by the small light of a fire inside a lantern.

            “Sssssssooooooomaaaaaaadoooos, trrrrrying to seeeeee the king.” When the buzz began to die and his vision began to clear he could tell he had not gone deaf or blind. He was being carried down the dark tunnel, presumably by Jazo, who was currently talking with someone behind another door. That was twice in the last two days he’d been carried to a foreign location without his consent and if he had any say in the matter he would not like to allow a third time. He tried to struggle out of Jazo’s grasp but the guard was stronger than he looked.

            “Oh great, he’s awake. See all the time you’ve wasted?”

            “Well excuse me for being cautious!” Whoever Jazo was talking to Kit could only make out their eyes and nose through a slit in the door.

            “He was unconscious for most of the journey here anyway, not like he’s gonna squeal on us.” Kit felt a hard pinch against his side that was meant as a warning.

            “Whatever, but don’t you even think about blaming me when the boss comes down on your hide.”

            The slit closed with a loud click and the man on the other side of the door began to fumble with the locks. By the sound of it there were many of them, and it took a good minute for the door to open for them at that. It was a tight fit getting them both through it due to the way Kit was being carried over Jazo’s shoulder, but the guard was able to manage, quick as a flash down the rest of the tunnel and careful not to trip in the darkness.

            “Just keep quiet kid, and no harm will come to you.” The bruise on his neck and the sting he felt on the side of his stomach was enough to make a solid argument against that but Kit didn’t try his luck. He was limp in his captor’s arms as they went down the tunnel. He could feel by the way Jazo was moving that they were going in many twists and turns along the path, until they were going up what felt like an incline. Eventually Jazo blew out the candle in the lantern, apparently confident enough in himself to know the rest of the way. Kit could see a small semblance of a light from up above as well, growing ever so brighter the farther up the incline they went.

            The room they ended up in was bright enough to navigate through but too dim to make out entirely. The only interesting thing about it were the checkered black and white tiles that Kit could see his own reflection in. Jazo’s footsteps could be heard throughout the room as well, meaning they must be inside a building of some sorts. Kit’s back was pressed into a door when Jazo decided to use the arm he was lifting him with to open it and took a brief pause to readjust Kit on his shoulder before moving on. When Kit looked back as to where they had come from he could hardly believe his eyes.

            It was a building, yes, a temple in fact, that fit nice and snug into an entirely different and larger one. Kit did not realize it at first, having only seen the exterior from the courtyard more than twenty-four hours ago, but at the moment he was being led through the Cathedral of the Goddesses, and where the tunnel had let out was the original Temple of Time itself. As part of the City Plan the Temple could never be demolished due to its historical importance, so when Errol Jhonhu established himself as the new high priest and set about creating a grander place of worship, he found himself having to literally build around the temple until it became an attraction inside a sort of enormous antechamber. Kit could still see it as they made their way up three flights of stairs and down a hallway leading to another part of the cathedral. On the third floor he had a much better view of it and it was then that he fully understood where he was, and by process of elimination who he was going to meet.

            “So the rumors are true after all.” A voice said from a little down the hallway. “It would appear there are some rats hanging about the kitchen.” He recognized the voice from yesterday. It was the high priest’s assistant, the one who had announced him to the crowd and brought them to a frenzy. “Let ‘im down.” Jazo took Kit off his shoulder and planted him on the ground so hard Kit felt he was going to stumble over. The high priest’s assistant was a stubby gentlemen with a long hooked nose that was always filled with mucus he couldn’t be bothered to clean. He wore a brown overcoat lined with exotic fur from some animal Kit could not name in the dim light of his cigar. Of particular interest about this man was the fact that where his right arm should have been was a wooden prosthetic, with two metal wires where a hand should have been as well. The cigar in question sat on those wires, or as the assistant called it, his hook. He blew a ring of smoke in the boy’s face as he sneered at him.

            “You’re pretty short ain’t ya?” With a nod the assistant released Jazo who began to head back down the hallway and to the castle where he was sure to be missed. “Not what I expected at all.” He was soon joined by two muscular Hylians who stood behind Kit, who had to exercise all of his willpower not to squeal in shock at the sight of them. “Come on then,” the assistant said with a beckoning gesture from his good hand, “the boss doesn’t have all day.”

            Kit followed along as the larger Hylians kept close on his back, which made keeping his distance from the man’s cigar all the more challenging. It seemed to amuse him whenever he blew a puff of smoke and Kit would cough as he breathed it in. They stopped in front of a pair of long doors as the assistant took one long drag of his cigar before knocking on the door twice with his hook.

            “Come in.” Kit recognized this voice as well, even as hundreds of screaming people had sought to drown it out in their euphoria. So it was no surprise to him when Errol Jhonhu stood on the other side of the door, posed much as King Daphnes had been, with his back to them as he looked out a window. He turned around when Kit entered the room, a small office illuminated by a tiny chandelier and decorated with fine sofa and portraits of his favorite person (guess who). A desk stood between him and the Gerudo, with an empty chair on Kit’s side.

            “Well, well,” the high priest said with a smile, “so this is the famous Kitorit.” Kit was more than a little rattled that his name was so familiar with the religious equivalent of a super celebrity.

            “You know my name?” Errol’s laugh was as flamboyant as his appearance.

            “I do. You’ve caused quite a stir in some areas of the kingdom, and now I hear you have even met our beloved king.” He was still laughing as his assistant asked him if he would need anything else. “No, thank you Ralon that will be all.” Kit felt a touch of relief when the assistant named Ralon and the brutes had left, leaving him and the priest alone. “Sit, please.” Errol gestured to the empty seat on Kit’s side of the desk. He accepted the invitation, a bit put off at how the same person who had referred to his people with vile reprimand was nothing but giddy at meeting him.

            Errol was wearing more common attire today as well, a simple white tunic and blue pants with not a shard of jewelry in sight. He could see a box where he might be keeping them though, as well as a half open wardrobe where he could see the purple robes Errol had worn when he first saw him. A mirror was hung on the wall to Kit’s left as well, as well as tiny mirrors along the desk with empty bottles of makeup. His desk was rather unorganized, papers flung about this way and that, and wrappers of candy that did not make the journey to the wastebasket on Kit’s right.

            “Candy?” Errol offered. Kit politely declined this offer, which did nothing to perturb Errol’s smile. “Well then,” He took his own seat on his side of the desk. Kit thought he had more to say after this but the high priest did nothing but stare at him with a neutral smile, drumming his fingers together as he did.

            “I don’t suppose you know who I am, do you boy?” He said finally. Kit told him he had been at his sermon the day before. “Ah, splendid. Then I suppose you may be wondering why you are here.”

            “The thought had crossed my mind, sir.” Kit’s response was not meant as a joke but Errol laughed regardless.

            “I hope my boys didn’t startle you too much. I love them to death but the Goddesses know they can be a bit… exuberant.”

            “I’m okay.” Kit began to rub his neck on impulse which Errol didn’t notice.

            “Excellent! I hope you’ll forgive my own enthusiasm, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen a Gerudo in this city.”

            “I think a lot of citizens would consider that a blessing.” Kit did not mean to come across as hostile but the all too recent memory of being beaten in the Cathedral Square or denied entry in the Ilia due to a message of hatred directed towards his people made it difficult for him to remain civil.

            “If you took any offense at my sermon yesterday, my boy, I assure you I meant none of it towards you. How could I,” he stood, “we’ve only just met after all.” Errol paced the office as he often did whenever he had private meetings such as this. “Any fervor I direct towards your fascinating people is reserved for the filth such as the Dark Wizard and his type.” Kit could understand holding an animosity towards that, but it did not excuse those who used the message to enact violence against all the Gerudo, and he made that thought clear to him.

            “All the same,” Kit said, “I think some of your congregation have perverted your original intent.”

            “Of course, dear boy, of course, it was inevitable you see.” Errol laid a hand on Kit’s shoulder, his nails had been filed to a sharp edge and his fingers were long and skeletal. “I take good care to teach tolerance to all my children, a hard trait to learn when we Hylians are so closely connected with the Gods who made us in their image, but I am well aware of a few bad apples spoiling the bunch. Don’t shoot the messenger, after all.” Kit had to admit the high priest turned out a lot different than he had imagined him. He was too old to be called young but his face was too young to consider him old. His teeth were white as pearls and all were bare for him to see whenever he smiled. He had bright green eyes and the sheen in his golden hair was as bright as it had been when Kit had witnessed it from almost a mile away. There was one detail that bothered him though.

            “Sir, is there… something wrong with your ear?” Errol felt both of them, running his fingers to the pointed tip that every Hylian had, and yet the look on his face agreed with the boy. Errol grabbed one of the mirrors from the desk and turned his back to Kit, adjusting his right ear so that it was no longer lopsided and making a note to spend a few extra minutes longer in the morning preparations to ensure this little mishap did not occur when meeting someone of higher importance.

            “Yes well,” he cleared his throat as he put the mirror down, “on the subject of the message,” he stood behind his desk again, holding the top of his chair as if he were going to sit. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the current state of our fine country.” Kit nodded, the image of the King’s map with all the chess pieces clear in his vision, as though it were laid on top of Errol’s desk. “And you saw how many people were in attendance to my sermon yesterday?” It was an impressive amount, of that Kit would never deny. “You see my lad, all of those unfortunate people, the reason they come to my sermons and listen to what I have to say, is because their lives are devoid of hope.” Kit thought of how many people from District Two had gone to the Cathedral Square at the sound of the bells, and of what Saviha had said of Tom and their family’s tragic loss.

            “I understand that.” He said.

            “Everyone has lost something to this conflict. They may go about their lives as though everything were fine and the imminent threat beyond our borders did not exist, but I see it every day on their faces as clear as the nose on yours. They’re afraid, Kitorit. Twelve years ago when the Dark Wizard came back I saw that fear engulf the lives of my fellow Hylians. I prayed to the Golden Goddesses to help them, give them the hope that they needed in these trying times. Never once in my life did I think they would bless me with the tongue to give it to them myself. I am their emissary, Kitorit. I speak their will to the people and give them a sense of clarity to cut through the dark and unforeseeable future.”

            “That’s very noble of you.” Kit said, unsure how to react to the idea that the Goddesses held a certain disdain for his people. It was not unthinkable, though, seeing as how the Gerudo worshipped another deity altogether, and perhaps they were in competition with each other.

            “I don’t see it as nobility at all,” Errol said as his finger brushed the jewelry box, “more as a sense of duty. If not I, then who? Who would lead the people out of their fear and into the light?”

            “Surely the King could.” Kit knew this was not so even before he had finished that sentence.

            “You spoke with him not long ago did you not?” Errol sat down again. “You saw firsthand how removed he is from the plight of his people?” Kit was taught to never disrespect his elders, especially other royals, but he found it difficult to jump to the King’s defense. “Answer me this,” Errol said as he sat back in his chair, “how many people in the slums of the Second and Third Districts would you say trusted their government? How many would say they were completely satisfied with the way they were being ruled by their King? And how many did you see in the square yesterday morn, chanting my name?” He paused, allowing Kit a moment of reflection the boy did not need. It was the showman in Errol, he could never resist prolonging a proposition. “Between the King and myself, which would you say is truly connected to his people?” Kit saw the smile return to Errol’s face, his eyes light up as he went for the kill.

            “What are you trying to say?” Kit asked, cutting right to the heart of Errol’s proposal.

            “My child,” He leaned in closer across the desk, “I admire your tenacity and preemptive logic in seeking out the King, but you will find no help from him.”

            “Well,” Kit thought aloud, “maybe it was because I overstepped my boundaries. I broke into the castle and snuck up on him, maybe if I tried to speak with him in the proper way we could-” Errol held up his hand.

            “Please, say no more. There is nothing you could have done to change his majesty’s mind, he is as stubborn as any royal I have ever met. No offense.” He added. “But you show great wisdom in trying to create an alliance between the two of you.” It wasn’t really his wisdom to begin with, Kit decided. “And that is why I propose you do not forgo any plans of allegiance, but rather… reshape them into something more worth your while.” Kit was left to ruminate on this offer but it didn’t come across as well as the priest had hoped.

            “IIIIII don’t follow.” Errol’s smile fell to a frown for a fraction of a second. A second that could have cost him the deal if someone well versed in business had been sitting where Kit was now.

            “A partnership my boy,” Errol rose and went to Kit’s side again. “An alliance between you and I. I’ll make you a part of my sermons and you can speak against those other Gerudo that give your kind a bad name.”

            “Other Gerudo?” Kit’s heart skipped a beat, remembering what the generals had said about the fate of his people. “There really are other Gerudo out there besides Ganondorf?” Errol winced at the Dark Wizard’s name but kept his composure.

            “Not the point, look, listen,” He knelt so that he was at Kit’s eye level. “I am offering you the chance you need to wage your war against evil. And you need not even pick up a sword to do it! If you go up there on that balcony and I vouch for you the people of Hyrule will grovel at your feet. I have all the resources you need, and all I would need for you to do is not to disrupt the people’s way of life.” Kit still had trouble understanding.

            “What do you mean ‘disrupt their way of life’?” Errol’s tongue wet his lips as he chose his words carefully. At this late in the game he could not afford to lose the boy’s interest.

            “There’s a fine line between giving the people hope and giving them false hope, Kitorit. You speak of going up against the Dark Wizard, you must be very brave, but it is not for Hylian hands, or otherwise, to decide. All we can do is preach the good word of the Goddesses and trust that they will take care of the matter for us.” Kit shook his head.

            “But how long can the people survive if they do nothing but wait?”

            “The Goddesses shall provide. The Hero of Time shall return to us.” Errol said these with practiced certainty but the awe that Kit held when he first heard Errol’s prophecy was gone.

            “We can’t just wait for other people to take care of our problems, not the Hero of Time or even the Goddesses. That’s what I was always taught.”

            “But you didn’t grow up in Hyrule did you?” Kit wanted to say more but the words wouldn’t come. It was a fact that he had used against himself with every step of the way from the Wilds to the castle, and to hear it from someone else, to know that it was not just his own doubt speaking lies to him, it cut him deeper than any wound that had ever left a scar upon his flesh.

            “None of that matters Kitorit.” Errol said in a voice that was not reassuring. “All you need to do is take my offer. You can give the people hope, let them know that there is some good the Gerudo have to offer in this world and give them the idea that if one can be redeemed, maybe the Dark Wizard can too. What is your decision?”

            Kit thought about everything Errol had said. Maybe it was pointless. What could one boy and his caretaker do against Ganondorf and his entire army? The King would not help them, he would not even help his own people, and it wasn’t as though the majority of the kingdom would lift a finger to help them, either due to their race or because of what little hope they had already. Maybe it was better to give them hope rather than…

            “No.” Errol’s frown made the high priest appear as a total stranger, or more than he already was.

            “I beg your pardon?” The word was not one he was used to hearing.

            “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t.” Errol’s face was turning a shade of red while his voice was ever passive.

            “Why ever not?”

            “You speak of giving the people hope but… it isn’t hope. It’s just telling them what they want to hear.”

            “And what would you have me tell them?” The answer was simple, in fact it was just about the simplest response Kit had given that day.

            “The truth.” Errol took a deep breath, his face returning to its natural shade.

            “What is the truth to you? It is the truth of the Goddesses I preach of, any other _truths_ can be a dangerous weapon Kitorit.” He stood and went to stare out the window as he had before. “When told to the wrong crowd, they can induce panic, cause riots, spread a fire that can raze a whole city to the ground. Do you intend to spark a fire in my city, boy?”

            “Maybe it’s already burning.” Kit said. Errol let out a single chuckle.

            “The people are content to live as they are, content to let the higher powers that be watch over and guide us in every step of our lives. I’m disappointed that you don’t seem to respect that need of contentment.” Kit was quick to explain himself.

            “Oh, no sir, I don’t mean to offend any of you, it’s just, not how I was taught. I was told that you have to accept life for what it is and make the most of it. Shape your own destiny.”

            “How ironic a statement coming from a young boy who thinks himself a king only because other people said he was.” Kit didn’t understand why the high priest’s attitude had changed so drastically in the past few minutes, as though his pleasantness was a mask he had put on for airs. “I’m sure that’s what you heard every day of your life isn’t it? From people like that other Gerudo who came to the city with you.” Kit shot up from his chair and onto his feet.

            “Faera? Where is she? What did you do to her?” Errol put on his mask of smiles again as he turned to the anxious Gerudo.

            “Nothing. She’s perfectly safe.” Both of their attention was at the door when they heard a loud bang on the other side of it, soon accompanied by loud cursing. “Speak of the devil there she is-” The door burst open and hit the walls of Errol’s office at full force, leaving dents that would never be fixed, as Faera stood in the doorframe. “-now.”

            Kit had put on a brave face and composure to match all throughout the day, something he knew his caretaker would be proud of. But seeing her now, after more than a day of not knowing where she was or whether or not he would find her again, all sense of composure was lost to him as tears filled his eyes.

            “Fae!” He ran to her and tied himself around her waist, crying into her exposed navel. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Faera put her arms around the boy as well, returning the affection before whispering in his ear.

            “Not here, Kit.” Kit looked up at his caretaker and gave a nod that he understood. He dried his eyes and turned back to look at Errol who was doing the same.

            “How sweet.” He said as he put his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Such a wonderful reunion. I suspect you two have much to catch up on, so I will not trouble you any longer. You are free to go.” Kit heard a noise behind him and saw Ralon with a new cigar on his hook, leaning against the doorframe.

            “How very considerate of you.” Faera was not discreet in her scorn. Errol made a bow and returned to his seat, taking a quill and a random piece of paper from the desk and scribbling on it to give off the illusion that he was busy.

            “Oh yes,” he said just as they were leaving, “I should watch my tongue if I were you two. You never know who might be listening.” Kit gave his caretaker a look of bewilderment but Faera did not turn from the high priest. She had a wicked grin on her lips as she had the final word.

            “Oh father,” she said, “your hair is a little misshapen.” Errol’s hands flew up to his hair, nearly knocking it off of his head. He readjusted it as the Gerudo took a bow herself and bid him good day, taking Kit by the hand and leading them down the hallway. Errol scowled as his fingernails dug into his desk.

            “Watch that temper Jhon,” Ralon lit his cigar with his good hand, “it’s bad for your health.” The high priest stared at the forms of both Gerudo who grew smaller and smaller as they went down the hallway until they turned a corner and were out of sight.

            “Send a word out to all our men, I want eyes on those two wherever they go in the city, and I want to be told immediately when they leave.”

            “Anything you say.” Ralon left the room and shut the doors behind him.

            Errol took the paper he had been writing on and tore it to shreds, throwing it and several of his mirrors from his desk. He allowed himself a minute of rage before calming himself with deep, thoughtful breaths. The jewelry box on his desk never hurt either. He opened it, stealing a glimpse at his favorite piece. A strange golden object that hung on a pearl necklace, the one item he made sure to always wear whenever he gave any of his speeches or spoke with any nobleman of great standing. It had been his good luck charm for over a decade now, and it hadn’t run out yet. Seeing the sparkle of his own reflection in the gold assured him that it wouldn’t for some time still.

            He had nothing to fear, no one was going to believe them if they tried to say anything. After all it was his words against theirs. Even better, it was the Goddesses’ words against theirs. He laughed as he put the necklace back in its box and threw the fallen papers and shards of broken glass into the wastebasket. If those desert rats thought they had gotten the better of him they had another thing coming. One thing he could promise with the utmost of certainty, if they did not leave well enough alone then they had not seen the last of Errol Jhonhu.


	10. Regrouping and Reevaluating

Faera said nothing as she led the way out of the cathedral, even as Kit had so many things he wanted to tell her. He wanted to apologize for getting himself lost, tell her how he had befriended a kind Hylian family, how they had helped him sneak into the castle and speak to the King, but every time he tried to speak she shot him down with the words, “Not now.”

            As they went back down the steps and to the large antechamber where the original Temple of Time resided Kit could see why she was adamant about keeping silent for the time being. Several of Errol’s men had taken position in the shadows, watching them as they left. He counted at least fifteen hidden in various corners in the hallways or up on the higher levels looking down on them, and he was certain that there were more. He had to wonder between all these people and the guard who had taken him here from the castle how many in the city worked for the high priest. Considering that the priest knew his name and that he had caused “stirs” in the kingdom already, how many worked for him without even knowing about it?

            After making their way through several hallways they found the main worship hall, passing by the altar where three enormous statues of the Golden Goddesses held one piece of the Triforce in their arms, similar to the statue of them in the fountain of the Great Courtyard. They passed the pews where a few Hylians were deep in prayer and to the large doors that marked the exit of the cathedral. Kit was more than happy to see the light of day again as Faera opened them, having known nothing but darkness and pale light for the past hour. Cathedral Square was bustling with the same variety of people going about their daily grind but to Kit it seemed much smaller when there weren’t scores of people crowding together inside it.

            Fae walked on ahead as Kit’s eyes adjusted to the light, forcing him into a run to keep up with her.

            “Wait!” He called, “Fae, hold on!”

            “I suppose I have to wait since I can’t trust you to stay by my side.” Kit sighed as he looked away at the cobblestone ground with which he had become quite familiar with after the last time he was here.

            “I’m sorry.” He said again. “I didn’t mean to get lost I was right by your side when-”

            “Never mind. Just remind me to skin you when all this business is over with.” Faera lessened her pace just enough for the boy to catch up and the two walked side by side through the rest of the square. “What did he offer you?”

            “Who?” For a moment he thought Faera meant the King before she said Errol. “He, said it would give the people hope if they saw a… ‘good’ Gerudo.” She made a noise in her throat as more people began to stare at them. Not all of them could be among the high priest’s spies, but now Kit was more nervous about their suspicious glances than he ever was before. “Did-did he offer you anything?” He asked trying his best to ignore them.

            “Money.” Faera said without missing a beat. “Some of his lackeys ambushed me last night and brought me to him. He also said he could give me room and board if I was looking for a place to stay.” Just like he knew that I wanted to help the poorer citizens, Kit thought.

            “What was the catch?” He asked.

            “The same as yours.” It seemed that the high priest had been eager to recruit the two Gerudo to his congregation, buying them both with rupees and the promise of philanthropy. Kit didn’t understand why but he was certain Faera did, and now that they were together again she would elucidate the full details as she always had. They could be a team again as if the previous day had never happened.

            “They got you last night, where were they keeping you?”

            “A system of tunnels,” Faera said as her eyes shifted to a group of Hylian men who were watching them nearby, “deep below the city.”

            “They took me through those tunnels too!” Faera warned him to keep his voice down. Kit could see the same group of men murmur among themselves as they passed. “There’s an entrance to them,” He whispered, “somewhere in the castle.”

            “You went to the castle?” Kit wasn’t sure if she was pleased or angry given her tone but he answered truthfully.

            “I met the King.” He bumped into her legs when his caretaker came to an abrupt stop on the street.

            “You met with the King all on your own?”

            “Well, not alone I had a little bit of help.” Kit had only seen her stare at him like this a handful of times in his life. It was a look of pure disbelief, letting him know he had not only done something right he had done the impossible. He had been able to surprise her.

            “What did you say to him?” Her voice did well to hide the overwhelming sense of pride she had for him. Kit told her everything, about the castle and how he had used a distraction to get past the two guards in front of the audience chamber. How he had met with the King and briefly discussed his battle strategies, and how he would not be of help as he sought to fortify his own borders rather than take the first steps to take an active stand against the Dark Gerudo. All the while as he told her this he saw her face light up and become brighter than he had ever seen it before, and it fueled the fire he put into each retelling. Even as he told her how the King would not offer his help it did not deter the beam of light within them both.

            “I see.” Faera said when Kit was through. The both of them came down from their high as they were left to wonder where they were to go from here. Kit asked her as much and of course Faera always had the best reply. “We make rest and plan another strategy. The King will not help us and the next higher authority seeks to use us for his own embezzlement scheme.”

            “So who else is there?” Faera scratched her chin and put her hand on the boy’s head as she ran her fingers through his messy hair.

            “We shall see.” They went on to some unknown destination along Main Street as the two of them thought. If the King and the high priest weren’t going to be of any assistance it was hard to imagine any noble or lord in the city would do much for them either. It was a large city filled with thousands of people so it was not an idea to rule out altogether, but what time did they have to waste searching for one person of authority that would listen? There was no telling how long it would be until Ganondorf planned his next big attack. A week, a day, it may even occur on this very afternoon for all they knew. No, they had no time to spare. No time at all to try and think of another plan that involved seeking the aid of the people of Hyrule.

            “Where’s your sack?” Faera broke the silence. Kit instinctively reached behind him for the sack that wasn’t there, his panic growing again before his memory returned to him.

            “I left it at Tom’s house.” He said with a sigh of relief.

            “Who?”

            “Tom Calatia.” He explained. “The merchant who helped me get into the castle.”

            “Do you remember the way to his home?” Kit took the lead as they went down Main Street and took a right onto the Sixth District. Through busy streets filled with people shopping for various fabrics or silks and through a very peculiar alleyway where women dressed in practically nothing asked men if they’d like to while away the hours with them. Tom hadn’t told him what they meant the last time they were here so Kit thought nothing of it now (although Faera seemed to have a pretty good notion as to what they were implying due to the way she rolled her eyes).

            A weight he didn’t know he had was taken from him when they came upon the Calatias’ familiar street and when he saw Saviha’s first painting hung up on the door like a beacon in the middle of a squall. Kit knocked on the door three times and told Faera again how they had been nothing but good to him during his short stay. His caretaker looked indifferent to it all as she folded her arms and waited for the door to open. Kit was about to knock again when he heard a shuffling from the other side followed by the clicking of the lock. He barely had a moment to react to the door opening when Sibella pulled him into a tight embrace.

            “Oh thank the Goddesses you’re all right!” Kit’s face went red as he returned the embrace. “Everyone,” Sibella called behind her, “it’s Kit! He’s back!” Kit could hear footsteps coming from both the kitchen and from the second floor of the house. On cue Tom joined in the clasp, followed by Saviha whose clothes were stained with fresh paint. They all laughed in sweet solace as their voices combined into one.

            “We were worried you’d been arrested!”

            “We thought something terrible had happened to you!”

            “I’ve never been so worried in all my life!” Saviha, Sibella and Tom all said in unison, making it sound something more like, “Wewethouorriedarresteverbeenthingterribleallhappenarrestedtoyoulife!”

            “I’m fine, I’m fine.” Kit said wiping a few tears from his eyes as he laughed. “I met with the King but…” He didn’t have the heart to tell them that the meeting had been for naught. After all the hard work they had done and the risks they had taken for him, how could he repay his friends with such terrible news? “Well, Faera and I are going to talk about what we need to do next.”

            “Faera?” The Calatias took notice of the Gerudo woman standing behind Kit, her face concealing a smile she had borne at the sight of their reunion.

            “Oh right,” Kit made the proper introductions and the Calatias took turns saying how it was a pleasure to meet her and how happy they were to know that the two were reunited once more. Tom in particular went the extra mile by taking her hand into both of his and shaking it as he sang the praises of the young Gerudo.

            “Ms. Faera I must say meeting you face to face at last is a real treat, a real treat. Kit told us all about you of course and let me just say you have done an excellent job raising him. Never have I ever met a more respectable and sweet lad as him, he’s been nothing but swell and I was happy to share my home for him and to you if you so-”

            “Yes, thank you, that’s enough of that.” Faera forced her hand away from his. Tom could only blush at how carried away he had become, scratching his bald head as his daughters and Kit shared a jocose glance. “There are other matters we have to attend to. Kit, retrieve your sack.”

            “It should be upstairs in the guest room.”  Kit was about to make his way up the steps when Saviha stopped him.

            “Uh, please, let me.” She was up the steps before Kit could protest.

            “What was that about?” He asked the others.

            “Haven’t the foggiest.” Tom was a bad liar but he was also quick to change the subject. “But why the urgency? Is there something wrong?”

            “No I don’t think-”

            “We’re leaving the city.” Faera answered, sending a shockwave throughout the room.

            “Leave?” Kit asked, thinking to himself he should know better than to expect an immediate explanation for his caretaker’s plans.

            “I thought you still had work to do here.” Sibella said.

            “We do,” Faera said, “but it will require caution.”

            “What kind of caution?” Kit couldn’t hold back a scoff as he said this.

            “Mind your attitude young man.” Saviha was back downstairs as Faera said this.

            “What’s going on?” She asked. Tom and Sibella brought her up to speed. “Leave?”

            “I’m afraid so,” Faera took the sack from the artist and gave it to Kit, “And we must do so at once.”

            “But you only just got here,” Tom stepped a few feet in front of the door. “You could stay for lunch or even spend the night if you’re tired. We could pull up another bed in the guest room and-”

            “Thank you,” Faera interrupted, “for everything you have done for him. I am truly in your debt.” She bowed to each of them, making Tom blush and the Calatia siblings uncomfortable. “Come along Kit, we have to be off.” Kit hesitated as Faera made her way around Tom and to the door. She lingered there for a minute as the boy made his goodbyes.

            “I don’t really know when we’ll be back.” He was going to finish this with an ‘if at all’ but he did not want to give this last meeting any air of permanency.

            “You’re welcome any time you are.” Saviha said to her family’s agreement.

            “You still have to come see me perform in more shows too.” Sibella’s ruby red lips were made up in a smile that Kit wanted to save in a bottle and keep in arm’s reach whenever his heart needed stoking.

            “Our home is your home. This family is your family.” Tom put on his trademark smile, though it was weaker as he extended his arm to shake the boy’s. Kit took it, savoring the feeling of his hand being buried in Tom’s. “I wish you all the luck in the world.”

            Kit sniffled as Tom pulled him in for one final embrace, soon joined by Saviha and Sibella. The four friends stood together in a huddle as though they were concocting another scheme for a good while, until Kit broke away from the group and towards his caretaker. He fastened the strap on his sack and took one last look at the Calatias and their home, certain that it very well could be the last time he saw any of it, and then they were gone. With a sigh Tom returned to the kitchen, followed by Sibella who was helping him prepare a late lunch, and Saviha made her way back up the stairs and to the guest room where she had kept her surprise. The boy would not see it for some time still. Regrettably, and unbeknownst to them all, he never would at all.

 

            “I have a right to know why!” Kit called out to her as they went down Main Street, past the Great Courtyard where loving couples, wistful elders and noisy children threw their rupees into the fountain, and to the small vendors and shops near the very entrance to the city.

            “Fae!” His caretaker would not stop, not even slow herself to let him catch up as she had before. It only served to infuriate him even more. “You can’t keep ignoring me forever!”

            “Not n-”

            “Yes, now!” Kit’s shouts were starting to attract more than a few onlookers. “Tom and the others took me in when no one else probably would’ve! They helped me, they fed me, they kept me safe in a strange land, and this is the thanks you give them?! I may never even see them again and all you can say to me is-”

            “That’s enough!” Faera froze on the street as she spun around to reprimand the young Gerudo, who was still too angry with her to care for the grand design of her standoffish behavior. The Gerudo woman turned around and began walking down Main Street again. She didn’t seem to care whether or not he followed her this time. He did, not having anywhere else to go save the Calatias’ house, though with every step he took farther away from it it felt the much better option.

            They spoke not a word to each other as they reached the end of Main Street and to the drawbridge that was somehow much smaller than he remembered. Maybe the morning mist from when they had first arrived made the whole thing seem larger to him. What hadn’t changed was the presence of the toll master, standing watch over the bridge along with his brutish enforcer, who bore a strange resemblance to the two brutes he had met in the Cathedral of the Goddesses. Perhaps the three were related in some way, Kit thought. Familial ties were the least of his concerns when they passed him and the toll master by. The brute sneered as if to say he did not forget the boy’s face and the toll master let out a snicker when he saw the two Gerudo, pony-less and not a rupee to their names.

            “Leaving so soon?” He asked with a cruel grin. Faera paid him no mind but Kit looked back at them both as they crossed the bridge, witnessing the toll master give a mock bow as he said, “Do come again anytime.” Neither Gerudo could hear the toll master tell his associate to send the word out to the high priest that the desert rats had left the city but it was not a concern for either of them. Now that they were alone at last Kit began to question his caretaker once again.

            “Where are we going? Why couldn’t we stay with the Calatias? What about the high priest or the King or-”

            “You didn’t tell them.” Faera said as she came to stop like before.

            “Tell them what?” Kit asked.

            “That you were a king.” Kit was about to protest this when he realized, much to his own displeasure at the moment, that she was right. At first it was due to anxiety that Kit kept silent about his lineage, but the more time he spent with the Calatias the easier it became for him to forget everything to do with his destiny. Apart from Loga who would still jokingly refer to him as a king every so often, they were the first people in his entire memory to ever treat him without any sort of reverence or favorable treatment due to royal blood. When they saw him they saw no king, not even a Gerudo, they only saw a boy. Only now that Faera had said anything about it did he realize how intoxicating it felt, that strange feeling of normality.

            “It never came up.” Kit said. Faera’s favorite eyebrow rose to its familiar arch on her forehead but she did not press the matter further. Rather she kept going down a path leading to only she knew where.

            “We could not stay with them because of the high priest.” Kit made a frown in confusion.

            “What does he have to do with them?”

            “Foolish boy, use your head or bury it in the sand.” Well, that was one he’d never heard before. “Did you not realize the city was full of his spies?”

            “Well yes but-”

            “He knew you were staying with them and he probably had ears listening in on them from the moment he did.” Kit nodded his head as it all made sense to him. It would explain how Jazo was able to spirit him away to the Cathedral and how Errol had been expecting him afterwards. These two revelations sent a chill up the boy’s spine and made him fearful for the Calatias’ safety.

            “Then that means whoever was spying on them will still be doing so!” He shouted.

            “Obviously.” Faera said with a cool head. “But now that we have done what Jhonhu wanted and left the city they are less likely speak anything of interest to them.” How soon he had forgotten his caretaker’s clever mind that always one step ahead of his and any others. Had she not made the clear announcement in their home that they were leaving, counted on Kit’s and their reactions to play their respective roles and make it all the more convincing? She had thrown a high priest with his nose around every corner off their scent and kept the Calatias safe from any retribution from him in one fell swoop. And to think a minute ago he’d forgotten how much he missed her.

            “But what do we do now that we’re out of the city?” One answered question still left dozens a mystery in its wake, or so his life always made it out to be.

            “First we take shelter.” Faera said. “It’s not safe to be out in the open like this.” Kit took notice of his surroundings for the first time since they left the city. They were walking through a very large field, free from the mist that had obscured it to him the previous morning. A river ran along the north side of it and he could see a forest close to the river’s source. A desolated farm stood on a hill in the middle of the fields and in the distance he could see what looked like enormous Peahats flying about the air. How they got that big he didn’t care to know, nor did he wish to learn the fate of whoever lived in that ruined farm. The shadow of death loomed over all of Hyrule, and its shade could be felt even as the sun hung high overhead and there was not a cloud in the sky to ruin such a beautiful day. He hated it, and he wasn’t sure if he could ever get used to it.

            They crossed a small bridge over the river and towards an incline of many steps leading up in the direction of the infamous Death Mountain. Infamous for what, Kit was unsure. By all accounts Death Mountain had not been a very egregious place, if an entire village could live at its base and a civilization so close to its crater then he didn’t understand what was so doom and gloom about it. The smoke that rose from the very top brought a foreboding air to it but in all the years the Hylians had been living near it, Death Mountain had never rained fire and brimstone upon them. And so Kit felt no terror as he and Faera went up the many stone steps that led to the second most famous settlement in all of Hyrule. Kakariko Village.

            “Loga said he lived in Kakariko for a while didn’t he?” Kit asked Faera who said that he did. “He said that my father lived there too.” Predictably, Faera became cold at the mention of his father.

            “Many who couldn’t afford the extravagance of the city lived in Kakariko. Even some banished Gerudo found their way here.”

            “Why were they banished?” Kit asked.

            “Disobeying the laws of the Gerudo, desecrating the Goddess of the Sands’ commandments.”

            “It seems kind of harsh to banish people from their home and families.” Kit thought as his legs cried out in anguish from all the steps it had to climb still.

            “There was a time when we forewent banishment in favor of execution.” The young Gerudo gulped, wondering if such punishments befitted the king as well. “It hasn’t been done for centuries now.”

            “Who decides who is banished and who is simply punished?”

            “The King of course.” Faera looked back at him as she kept a steady pace in ascending the steps.

            “And was it a king who changed the law that we should no longer kill our own people for their crimes?”

            “They are the only ones who can do so.” Kit thought about the typical lifespan of any Gerudo as told to him by Faera years ago. They did not live exceedingly long lives, around the same as any Hylian or average human in years. A king could live in lesser that time depending on his actions. If he were to die at the age of fifty where would that leave the Gerudo for the next fifty years? Who would make the laws, who would uphold them? Why did the Gerudo even need a king if males were so rare among their ranks? Any time he had put these questions to Faera she had answered with four words he had grown to hate most of all out of her entire vocabulary. “Because it is tradition.”

            “Bother tradition.” He said to himself as Faera waited for him at the top of the steps. “If I were a king,” he said so that she could hear, “I would banish no one.”

            “You are a king.” She reminded him.

            “You know what I mean!” He sat on the last step to catch his breath. “A proper king.”

            “What if Ganondorf were one of your subjects?” Faera asked him. “Would you merely imprison him then?”

            “If I were a proper king now, we wouldn’t have to worry about Ganondorf.” It almost felt strange saying his name in earnest again.

            “There are always people like Ganondorf.” Faera said as she sat next to him. “In every society, in every kingdom, male or female. An evil such as his does not exclude itself to one being.” Kit felt a chill run down his spine at the thought of others who shared in the Dark Gerudo’s wicked intent for the world. Even those like Errol Jhonhu could only pale in comparison to such a wickedness. “You will find, my young sovereign, that the decision to make the right choice and the hard choice are never clear cut.” What Faera meant when she said ‘right’ and ‘hard’ the young Gerudo would have to ponder on his own as they were back on their feet and climbing up another slope of steps. All the walking he had done earlier in the morning finally caught up to him as his legs felt like anchors getting harder and harder to lift with each step. Faera had no such trouble, only fueling his annoyance whenever he would catch her staring down at him from a few steps ahead with her hand on her waist and a smug smile on the corner of her lips. If he couldn’t pick up the pace another serious day of leg training may be in his near future, and that was a fate far worse than any Ganondorf might come up for him (or so he thought).

            When it felt like his knees were going to collapse from his own weight they had reached the last step and found themselves at the entrance to Kakariko village. Kit remembered from the legend of the Hero of Time that Kakariko had once been a village belonging to the secretive people known as the Sheikah. Not much was known about them due to their reclusive nature but at some point in Hyrule’s early history they swore allegiance to the royal family and have been watching over them for generations. One such Sheikah was that of Impa, Princess Zelda’s nursemaid who kept her safe from Ganondorf and later became one of the Seven Sages. It was Impa who had opened Kakariko’s doors to the public, taking in wandering travelers, penniless vagabonds, and all other walks of life who sought affordable living with good home and comfort.

            It had always been the hope of many who lived in Kakariko that the village could expand from its humble origins and become a metropolis to compare with the Castle Town. Any such hope had been dashed when most of the resources meant to expand and make better had been used for King Lutolph’s City Plan. Castle City had become much more affordable to live in due to the variety of houses and jobs and Kakariko remained a smaller little town at the foot of the mountain. Still, there were many who preferred it to city life, and the village had seen a small expansion in its time to accommodate the many who came looking to find success in its sister city. There were many who lived in Kakariko but sought jobs in the city, and the relationship between the two settlements remained just as strong as it had been in the days of the Hero of Time.

            Then Ganon returned.

            Kakariko had taken much of Ganon’s wrath when the Dark Gerudo first returned from the Sacred Realm. The small group of guards and local militia of the village were not equipped to fight back against such a foe, and were promptly diminished. A terrible fire spread throughout the village, masking the bloodshed of the beast’s rampage as he brought much of the village to ash and rubble. What had once been a place of refuge from the Dark Gerudo’s treachery had become the first target in his new and deadlier war. And more than twelve years later only Kit and Faera were left to see the remains.

            “Oh…” The young Gerudo had never seen anything so horrifying. What few houses were still standing had terrible scorch marks all along their walls, with scores of rubble coating the streets. The worst of it came from the charred remains of mummified bodies caught in Ganon’s blaze. Some had long since gone back to the dust but many remained littered about the village, frozen in time as they sought to flee too little too late.

            “Why are we here?” Kit asked, fixing his sights on the sky when it proved the only thing he could look at without anguish.

            “We needed a private place to plan our next move.” Faera took the young Gerudo by the shoulder and led him through the village, past a home that had a huge hole in its roof, and through the ruins of a windmill that had fallen over and crumbled on impact, to what appeared to be the only house in the village still intact. The door was broken and the windows on the second floor were broken but the rest of it stood much as it had twelve years past. “They call it the Lady of Luck’s abode.” Faera told him.

            “There’s a woman living in there?” Kit couldn’t imagine anyone living alone in a place like this and one look at Fae’s blank face said that he didn’t have to. Faera followed him inside and restrained the door, locking them both in what might have been a museum of Kakariko life back in the days before the war.

            It was a single room, a small table sat next to a pit dug in the center of it for the fire, with a kitchen area that housed a ladder leading up to the second floor. A family had lived here if some of the décor was any indication. At the table there stood a chair designed for babies and on it was a tiny bowl with a chip in it, sitting next to two bigger bowls with silverware all laid out for supper. It unnerved him how everything in this house had remained so pristine, so unaffected from all the carnage that had taken place outside. If the Goddesses or any Gods were real, they had clearly shown favor on this house for some unknown purpose.

            “How did you know to come here?” Kit asked as he took the small bowl from the table, turning it over in his hands to inspect every inch of it.

            “I heard rumors about it back in the city.” Faera’s hand passed over a broken pictogram frame hung on the wall, the picture inside too damaged from the sun to see who the people were. “This is a popular locale for squatters or wayfarers, and at the moment we happen to be both.” Kit got a fire going at Faera’s request, watching as she took a pan from one of the cupboards in the kitchen and removed a pound of steak from a small bag she had tied around her belt.

            “Where’d you get that?” The boy savored the sizzle of meat against iron and the juice that spread across the pan.

            “I bought it last night with some of the rupees that butcher gave me for the ponies.” Kit looked at his caretaker with sheer horror.

            “You sold the ponies to a butcher?!” Faera stared at him, reminding him all too well that he was in no position to complain about such things. “Wh-what happened to the rest of the rupees?”

            “They were confiscated when the priest’s men captured me.” He still wasn’t sure how someone like her could be so easily captured and against his usual better judgment he asked her for an explanation.

            “They were sloppy.” Faera would prod the steak every so often with a wooden spoon as she talked, “Two of them had been following me for several blocks before three more came in front of me. I decided to get it over with and went into the nearest alley.”

            “Five to one,” Kit kept one eye on the steak throughout their conversation, “Doesn’t seem very fair.”

            “It wasn’t.” She smirked as Kit laughed. “Before I could leave that man with the wooden arm appeared, telling me the high priest would like a word with me.”

            “And you followed him just like that?”

            “Not until he mentioned you.” Errol’s spies hard at work again, Kit thought. “I realized after speaking with the high priest that it was only a matter of time before you would be brought before him, so I allowed myself to remain a captive until then.” It was a risky plan, especially since Faera had no idea of knowing how long it would be until Errol apprehended Kit, but risk and Faera were as close as twins joined at the hip.

            She told Kit to get a plate from the kitchen when the steak was almost ready. Despite the house’s immaculate appearance, the majority of plates and bowls in the cupboards were shattered beyond any hope of repair. Kit had to settle on a plate that had a third of it missing, placing it next to the sink as he washed the fork and knife he’d chosen thoroughly. Faera put the entire pound of steak on his plate and told him to eat while he could.

            “What about you?” He asked.

            “Never mind me, you must be hungry so eat.” He hated when she was like this. Just because he was a king by birth it didn’t mean she had to starve herself. Kit went to the table and cut a piece of steak as best he could, separating it from the whole as Faera came to sit at the table opposite from him.

            “Eat.” He told her, pointing his fork at the piece he’d cut. “Don’t make me command you to.” The Gerudo sighed as she gave the boy a half smile.

            “In a moment.” She sat down as Kit began to cut smaller pieces of the steak for himself. “If the King will be of no help to us,” She said moving back to more serious matters, “We will have to find another way to get to Ganondorf.”

            “A way that doesn’t involve going up against him directly.” Faera nodded.

            “His army is too great to even dream of a direct assault from just the two of us. Even if we were to sneak behind enemy borders he would anticipate any assassination attempts. His brutish reputation hides a cunning and deceptive mind.”

            “So we’ll need allies?” Kit thought of the legend of the Hero of Time and the help he sought when facing Ganondorf. Suddenly he remembered which might race lived just around the corner and up a mountain. “We could go ask the Gorons for help!” Faera shook her head.

            “The Gorons have long been driven away from these lands. After his destruction of Kakariko he turned his efforts to the mountain, seeking it out as a strategic base against the city.”

            “Is it safe to be so close to it then?” Kit grew nervous as he thought of Death Mountain looming over them, and how easy it would be to spot them coming into the village from anywhere on it.

            “Loga told me he hasn’t gone anywhere near the mountain for years. Out of what purpose I know not.” As if on cue there came a rumbling from a great distance, shaking the house for about five seconds before everything became still again. The two Gerudo were silent for three times that length before Faera spoke again.

            “With the Gorons gone our attention should turn to the other race most loyal to the crown.”

            “The Zoras.” Kit said to Faera’s approval.

            “Long have they watched over the river that has supplied the Hylian people with their fresh water. Even if tensions may be high among them they cannot forget their oath and sworn camaraderie with the royal family.”

            “Tensions caused by the Gerudo.” Kit remembered what Loga had said the night of his birthday, and what Errol had said about Kit being one of the few ‘good ones’ of his kind. “Will they even want to speak with us?”

            “They’ll have to.” Faera said. “We shall do as we did before, offer our assistance and serve them as best as we can should they accept.”

            “And if they don’t?”

            “That’s for us to decide.” This was one of her go-to responses when she really meant, “I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

            They spoke no more as Kit ate, unwilling to eat any further after a certain point until Fae had retrieved a plate and silverware of her own to eat the piece Kit had cut for her. In what felt like no time at all the sun was about to set, blanketing the already forlorn village in an air of horrific beauty. Kit could see it as he looked out the window, at the way the sun’s reflection hit the roofs of the ruined houses, how its light made the few patches of living grass all the greener. If one were to look at it from the right angle, they could forget all the death and butchery that had transpired here. For just a moment, one could take themselves back to Kakariko as it was before.

            “Kitorit,” Fae called, “away from the windows.” Kit obeyed as his caretaker set to work placing a wooden board over each window, using a hammer she had found in another house to secure it.

            “What’s that for?” He asked as he helped her hold the board in place.

            “When night falls this village will become infested with all manner of dark creatures. Some smart enough to investigate should they see anyone living here.”

            “You think Ganondorf’s army could patrol here too?” She wiped the sweat from her brow as she went to the other window near the front door.

            “We’re taking no chances.” She set to work securing the rest of the house, bolting the front door and blocking up every crack and crevice she could, until the house was in pitch darkness save for the fire that still burned in the pit.

            “You should get some sleep.” She told the young Gerudo. “We rise as soon as the sun does.”

            “As we always do.” Kit said making his way to the ladder.

            “I’ll keep the fire going a little while longer but I’ll have to put it out soon.”

            “You should get some rest too.” Kit told her.

            “I’ll sleep when I’m sure it’s safe.”

            “Fae…”

            “To bed with you.” Kit shook his head, knowing that nothing he could say would change her obstinate mind.

            He climbed up the ladder and found himself in a small room where a large bed sat in one corner, a crib not too far away from it. As with everything else, the bed was untouched since the last time it was used. Neatly made with fluffed pillows that were soft to the touch. It could also have been due to the fact that they were not the first people to use this house as a brief sanctuary, but still it felt other-worldly to him. This house, this whole village in fact, felt stuck in time with no hope of breaking free. No hope of coming back to life as the haven it had been known for. Not until the Dark Gerudo had been cleansed from these lands.

            Kit lay awake staring at the ceiling as he had the previous night for a long while, reliving the events of the day and thinking of what the future had in store for them. It was perhaps the most peculiar to think that two weeks ago he had been so far away from these lands. He had no knowledge of Tom, his daughters, Errol, even the King of Hyrule. He had never set foot in the Castle City or Kakariko, only having Loga’s word to tell him the state of both. To the boy who had just turned twelve all of this seemed like something out of a dream. How soon a life could change in so short a time, and how much one could learn in even less that time. He was still the boy who had just turned twelve, but he did not feel the same as he had when he left the Wilds. He knew things now, things he wished he didn’t and things he wondered how he could live so long without knowing. He was changed, and it was a bittersweet realization.

            A noise from outside broke his contemplative stare. He could not make it out completely but it sounded something like scratching. Yes, something was scratching against the wooden door. It was slow at first, two or three small scratches every few seconds. Kit jumped when the scratching quickened, the door shook and the hinges sounded like they were going to burst from the pressure. There was little doubt left in him that whatever it was outside, it was trying to get in.

            The scratching stopped after only a few minutes, the house’s serene nature returned and he could hear nothing except the sound of nature at night. Kit turned away from the ladder and slept on his left side, closing his eyes and trying his hardest not to imagine what had been on the other side of the door.

 

            Kit awoke with a start as the front door began to make noises again. After the initial shock had worn off he sighed, taking one of the pillows from the side of the bed he wasn’t sleeping in and covered his head with it. Faera had not gone to sleep yet and she probably wouldn’t for the rest of the night. Any sleep she might get she would probably do by the door where she could keep watch. She’s got her work cut out for her tonight, Kit thought as something continued to scratch at the door.

            There was something different about the scratching this time though. The more he listened to it the more it became clear that whatever was on the other side was not scratching at the door. They were banging against it.

            Kit slipped his feet through his shoes that he’d left near the bedpost, grabbing his sack that he’d left there as well. Stepping carefully so as not to cause a creak in the floorboards he made his way back down the ladder and to the fire pit in the middle of the house, where Faera was staring at the door with her scimitars in hand.

            “What’s that-” She silenced him before he could ask, never taking her eyes off the door. Kit jumped again as he saw it spring towards him, stopped by how secure Faera had been in bolting it. It almost appeared as if the door were taking sharp breaths, in and out, with each bang whoever it was outside made against it.

            Kit braced himself, ready for what was to come from the other side. Any moment now the doors bolts would fly off and whatever sought to break into the house would achieve its goal. Kit took out his bow from his sack and drew an arrow, aiming it straight at the door. Another bang, dust fell from the doorframe. Another, the hinges were beginning to lose their strength. Another, Kit closed his eyes and breathed as his middle finger tensed the arrow.

            Nothing. The banging stopped and the world outside was still. The two Gerudo said nothing to one another, merely keeping their ears and their weapons at the ready. Kit almost let his arrow fly when he heard shuffling from the side of the house. It headed upwards, to the ceiling, until it was gone. They both stared at the roof, never letting their grip loosen on their weapons. Kit’s arrow was pointed to the roof, his fingers twitching and ready for action. But nothing could prepare him for when the roof collapsed and the Bokoblins broke into the house.

            “Kit!” Faera was quick to react when Kit did not, striking the Bokoblin before its feet touched the ground. It was soon followed by two more who jumped with their swords aiming downwards at both Gerudo. “Here!” She gave Kit one of her scimitars as she always had, pushing him backwards and rolling out of the way as the two Bokoblins landed on the fire pit. One of them jumped at Faera, their swords clashing as the Bokoblin bounced all about the room. On the table, back to the pit, near the fireplace, back on the table again, swinging its sword furiously at the Gerudo whose speed was unparalleled.

            The Bokoblin’s partner was preoccupied with Kit, still on the ground after being pushed by Faera. The monster pounced on the young King who nearly cut his hand as he held the scimitar so that it was shielding his neck, which is exactly where the Bokoblin had aimed its lunge. The jagged edge of the Bokoblin’s collided with the edge of the scimitar’s blade, forcing the two into a deadly struggle as one sought to overpower the other.

            Thus the young Gerudo got his first glance at the Bokoblin race. They were about as ugly as their Moblin cousins, though certainly not as impressive in strength or girth. What they lacked in both they made up for in agility, as the one fighting Faera had shown him. Its skin was a dark blue, hard to make out in the darkness, and its face resembled something of a keese mixed with a pig.

            Kit became the victor of the struggle when he shoved the hilt of his sword into the Bokoblin’s side, sending it to the ground and leaving it open for the kill. It was not dazed for long however when it kicked Kit backwards with one of its feet, sending the young Gerudo straight to the kitchen table, hitting his back on one of its edges. The pain in his back stunned him long enough for the Bokoblin to go for the kill itself, only stopped by the intervention of its partner whom Faera had thrown directly into it.

            Both Bokoblins vanished not a moment after Faera’s blade struck their bodies, but there was no time to celebrate.

            “Kit, keep your bow fixed on that hole!” The young king nodded and made a dash to retrieve it. In a swift motion he slid to pick up the bow and arrow he had dropped and aimed at the hole on the roof, just in time for three more Bokoblins to jump down it. Kit’s eye was sharp enough to catch one target this time, hitting it just as it neared the ground, while Faera set to work at dispatching the other two.

            “Fae!” Kit threw his scimitar at his caretaker, who caught it without breaking her stride, evening the odds as the two Bokoblins tried to overwhelm her. To see Faera fight with both her scimitars was comparable to watching an exotic dance that only a select few knew the steps of. They could replicate it all they like, copy it to almost a science and dazzle crowds the same way the original dance might, but it would never have the finesse or the might that the original did, and even if Kit would go on to lead a life as the most famous swordsman in all the kingdoms of the world, he would never hold a candle to his teacher, who made short work of the Bokoblins with only a few ball changes and pivots.

            Several more came from the roof, each meeting the same demise as their comrades. Through the sword or the bow the two Gerudo made short work of their foes, until it appeared that no more were coming down the hole or scurrying about the walls outside.

            “I think that’s the last of them.” Kit said as he was about to put his bow away.

            “Leave it.” Faera retained her battle stance. “This could only be the beginning.”

            “Fae, come on, we probably sent them running with their tails between their legs already cause we kicked their… do you hear that?” It was a quiet sound, not a one that any person could hear unless they were dead silent. And even then it begged the question as to whether or not one was actually hearing it.

            Faera could hear it too, coming from somewhere near the door. She could recognize it as well after a certain amount of time. It might be mistaken for a Rope’s hiss if it wasn’t continuous, or something like a stream if they were near a body of water. But after that certain amount of time Faera knew it could only be one thing, and she had precious little time to get away from it.

            “WATCH OUT!” She pulled the young Gerudo into her arms and turned him away from the door, just as the bomb on the other side exploded.

            There came a ringing in Kit’s ears that blocked out all other noises from the world. Not the crumbling sound of rubble that was still falling from the roof, not his own voice as he groaned in pain, not the Bokoblins who were starting to close in on them.

            Faera had taken most of the impact, her exposed back singed with fire that Kit patted against in a desperate attempt to put out. He was sure he was hurting her more by doing it, but he could think of nothing else to do, not as Fae refused to wake up and not as he could hear nothing but a monotonous ring. It would have been a worse injury had the door and most of the front of the house not taken the blunt of the blast, but such a thought did no better to calm his nerves than the worse alternative.

            Kit spun his head to look at the Bokoblins around them. Too many, a good fifteen at least. All agile and smart enough to avoid losing any more of their rank by simply creating a new entry point into the house. It was like Fae always said, never underestimate your enemy.

            It was not wise to underestimate Faera either. For as one of the Bokoblins charged at the boy, the Gerudo woman sprung to her feet, scimitars in hand, felling the filth spawn with a single swipe of just one of her blades. The other Bokoblins followed suit, charging the Gerudo at once, beginning their dance anew.

            “Rrrru” He could hear her saying. The ringing in his ears was fading away and the muffled sound of steel clashing together replaced it.

            “Rrrrrruu” She said again. It was becoming clearer but not until the ringing had diminished into an almost hum.

            “RUN!” Kit blessed the Goddess of the Sands and the Golden Goddesses for the return of his hearing before taking his caretaker’s advice. He ran off into the village as Faera contended with five at a time, soon reduced to four in a matter of three seconds.

            One of the Bokoblins noticed the King’s flight and broke away from the group, giving chase with a terrible battle cry as the young Gerudo searched for any cover. Even with his skill in archery growing he had still not mastered the art of firing while he was moving, and the Bokoblin chasing him was too fast to hit, jumping to its left and right as it closed the distance between them.

            To his own shame and horror Kit’s foot caught on a root from a tree that was planted near the entrance to the village, sending him tumbling to the ground and almost directly upon a charred corpse. Kit could see the Bokoblin fast approaching him, sword at the ready and the express intention to kill in its eyes. He scrambled for his bow as quickly as he could, only to see it kicked out of his hands by the Bokoblin who had leapt toward him before he could act. The monster sneered at the boy as snot fell from its nose, laughing as it held its sword aloft to the moon, ready to plunge it into the boy’s heart.

            Kit closed his eyes when he heard the Bokoblin cry out in what he was sure was a terrible victory screech. He expected the plunge, imagined the cold iron penetrating his flesh, eviscerating his organs and sending a shockwave of pain through him such as he had never felt before or would ever feel again. But none of them came. The victory cry he had heard was one of anguish, and all the terrible feelings he had thought he was about to experience were brought upon his attacker instead, who was holding a long spear that stuck out of its stomach.

            The Bokoblin disappeared into a puff of smoke as Kit tried to make sense of what had just happened. He did not have much time to wonder as he saw the Bokoblins attacking Faera vanishing into the air and dust as well. Arrows or spears perforated them all until the handful that remained took fear of their invisible attackers and fled. They made no notice of Kit as they ran past him, leaving the King even more confused than he was before.

            From out of the shadows they came, several warriors wearing dark clothes and masks that covered all but their unusual red eyes. They bore an equally unusual symbol on the center of their chests, a huge eye with a tear falling from it, and three triangles meant to resemble eyelashes. One of them appeared in front of Kit, a bigger one with broad arms and a larger abdomen. They removed the spear from the ground and spoke in a strange language to the other masked warriors, signaling to Faera.

            The warrior reached out to grab Kit who knocked their hand away and made ready his bow and arrow, pointing it directly at their face.

            “Get back!” He shouted, trying his best to sound threatening. “Stay away from me!” A few of the other warriors ran towards them but stopped at their leader’s (or so Kit assumed they were) behest. They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity, Kit keeping his hand at the ready while he found it difficult to keep eye contact for too long.

            The brief second he looked away was enough of a window for the leader to grab him by the arm with which he held the bowstring and twist it far enough not to break but seriously hurt.

            “DON’T YOU TOUCH HIM!” Faera ran towards the leader before being forced down by three of the masked warriors. The leader was on their feet and looking down at Kit who held his arm as he looked back at them defiantly. The leader signaled to two of their colleagues, one took Kit’s bow and sack from him while the other got him to his feet, taking hold of his sprained arm so he wouldn’t struggle. The leader looked at both the Gerudo who both still had a lot of fight apparent on their faces. This seemed to please them.

            They made one more command to their cohorts and this time they did it in a language Kit and Faera could understand.

            “Take them to the camp.”


	11. The Princess

The Gerudo were led up the side of Death Mountain by the masked warriors, their hands bound behind them and their eyes blindfolded. Kit could feel that they were ascending though, when the rumbling of the crater inside the mountain grew louder and he felt the dirt and rocks slip through the holes in his shoes. His captors kept their silence but he could hear Faera next to him, struggling against her bonds while trying to be discrete as possible. It did no good against the leader.

            “If you would rather me carry you then by all means, keep trying to slip through that rope.” She, or so Kit presumed due to the nature of their voice, had been walking behind them, no doubt keeping an eye out just in case they did try to escape. Not that escape was plausible given the state they were in. They were surrounded ten to two, by his count, and each one of these strangers had made short work of nearly twice that many Bokoblins a moment ago. 

            There was nothing for it but to remain captive, go wherever this camp of theirs was and explain themselves as best as they could. Kit knew the reason the reason of their capture had something to do with their race, added with the fact that Ganondorf had tried to use the mountain as a base of operations. It would be easy enough to deny any involvement with the Dark Gerudo but it would not be so easy to convince them it was the truth. Kit thought of how he had held his bow directly at the leader’s face, ready to fire an arrow into her eye, and how that might not help their case either.

            Kit’s legs ached as they continued to go uphill, moving quickly to avoid the rocks that fell down the mountain continuously. If his sense of self-preservation wasn’t so high he might take the leader up on her offer of carrying one of them the rest of the way. He was relieved when the ground became stable and their path led them downwards. He could hear some of the warriors speaking among themselves in that strange language he had never heard before. Whispering as they came to a stop in front of a large rock wall. Kit’s apprehension grew as the warriors became quiet, and as the leader ran what sounded like her hand along something. He jumped when she knocked on a hollow part of the wall, and when another sound came at the knock’s response.

            “Password?” Their voice was the deepest Kit had ever heard in his life. The leader’s voice on the other hand was unintelligible as she spoke the desired password. The guard made a grunting sound and closed the slit they spoke out of, followed by a sound that made Kit think the mountain was shaking again.

            But it was not the mountain this time. The rock wall was opening, sliding apart to the left and right to reveal the entrance to a dark cave. Kit could see none of these, allowing his imagination to run away with him as he thought of hot lava pouring over their feet, burning through their skin and melting their bones so that they fell face first into it. Or perhaps a Dodongo was rearing back its terrible jaws ready to cast fire on them or swallow them whole. Neither was the outcome, much to the boy’s confusion when the rumbling finally stopped and he was pushed through the cave.

            The rumbling began anew as soon as they were through, the warriors waiting until they were in total darkness before lighting the torches on the sides of the cave walls. Their blindfolds were cast away then, hurting his eyes as they tried to adjust to the darkness and the dim light. Through the light he could see who it was that guarded the entrance to the cave, or at least the lower part of its body. If he did not see it breathing he would mistake it for a large boulder or a part of the cave wall. Its skin was a dark golden color, with a strange red insignia on its arms and a bare patch of light brown atop its head. Its pupils were a shade of crimson surrounded by the blackest eyes. Kit had never seen a creature such as this in his life, save for the novelty mask version he still had in his sack. At least one of the Gorons remained in Death Mountain.

            They were taken away from the Goron guard before Kit could say anything to it, going further into the dark cave until he could see a light on the other side. When they had emerged on the other side of the cave Kit could not believe his eyes. They were standing on the third level of Goron City, the home of the Goron in Death Mountain and one of the key locations in the Hero of Time’s journey. Suspended in the middle of the room was a platform where the Goron’s Ruby had once been, its current home back in the Temple of Time along with the other Spiritual Stones used to open the Door of Time and to the Sacred Realm. Below them lay the other levels and a giant vase with three Goron faces decorating it. It was a marvel of architecture, having no equal anywhere else in the entire world.

            Kit’s enjoyment of it was soured when he was pushed by one of the masked warriors, forced to walk down the steps and through the second level to the very bottom, where they stopped before a wall past the giant vase. Kit could see a few other masked warriors watching them from the higher levels as the leader stood on a rug that vaguely resembled the Triforce, the rug itself being withered and beaten by the passage of time.

            “Stay back.” The leader said as she stood on the center of the rug, reaching into a pouch tied to her belt and pulling out a strange object. It was an oval-like object made of clay, with holes drilled into it and an extended mouthpiece projecting outwards. The leader made sure the Gerudo couldn’t see her as she pulled her mask down to bring it to her lips.

            “What’s she doing?” Kit asked Faera. A shove from one of the warriors to his back told him to be quiet. All were quiet as the leader played a brief but beautiful melody with the strange instrument she held in her hands.

            They were three simple notes, repeated twice before the pitch changed and an extra note was added, and yet the simple melody carried with it a sense of simpler times. When the world was not quite as intimidating as it was, when childhood was an experience rather than a distant memory, only relived through recollection, dreams, and songs such as this. Kit had never had what others would call a normal childhood, and in all technicality he was still a child by definition. Yet he could only think of fleeting moments in his life when he truly felt like one. As the leader played the song all those fleeting moments came back to him, dancing in his mind as if they were one collective memory, either taunting him or beckoning for him to lose himself to the music. Above all the beauty and tranquility of the melody, it gave him a greater sense of longing. The same longing he felt when he heard Sibella’s song a night prior. A longing for simpler times he had never known before but so desperately wished he could escape to.

            For how entranced he became with the music it did not last very long. After only a few notes the leader parted her lips from the instrument and put it back in her pouch as the wall of the cave slid into the earth, revealing a passageway to another room. She pulled her mask back over her nose and turned to face the two Gerudo who were looking at her expectantly. With a nod to her comrades the ropes binding their hands were cut, their weapons well out of reach and their pockets searched for any other offending objects. From Kit they found nothing, but Faera had about three knives and a set of poison darts hidden in her pockets, all confiscated along with the rest of their items. When they had been searched to the leader’s satisfaction she gestured with a single finger.

            “Follow me.”

            The masked warriors around them did not follow as the two Gerudo walked in toe with her, through a small passageway and to a large room lit by four torches at each corner. A large table stood in the center of the room, with a map of Hyrule not unlike the one King Daphnes had in the castle audience chamber. A person was standing over the map, tracing a part of it with their finger as their back was turned to them. It was apparent they had somehow not heard them coming in when they became startled at the leader announcing their presence.

            “Two Gerudo, your majesty. We found them in the village being attacked by Bokoblins.” Majesty? Kit thought.

            He stared at the person as they turned slowly towards them. Their hair was a bright blonde, the fairest shade he had ever seen of the color, and the dress they wore was of the purest white silk in all the kingdom. Plain clothes by the standards of royalty but no less beautiful when worn by her. Her face, when she had finally turned to face them, was what struck him the most. It was tired and worn with years of sleepless worry, but no less beautiful than any other feature about her. Her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in the glow of the torches, privileging him by looking directly into his. There must have been something about his face that struck her as well, considering the confusion she now bore on her own.

            “You are… male, are you not?” Kit’s eyes shifted around the room, almost certain someone like her would never even dream of speaking to him.

            “Uh, y-yes?” He stammered. She looked away from him as her face bore an expression of shock.

            “A male Gerudo… then the rumors were true…” Kit tilted his head, trying to find her gaze again and producing a laugh from the strange young woman when he did. “But I forget myself!” She bowed her head as she smiled at each of them. “Please, what are your names?”

            “I am Faera,” his caretaker stepped forward, bowing her head in respect “and this is Kitorit, the true king of the Gerudo.” She motioned the Gerudo to step forward as well which he did, bowing his head in turn. “We mean you and your army no harm.”

            “Oh they’re not _my_ army. They’re not even an army we’re more of a… insurgence.”

            “You seek to do battle against Ganondorf?” The young woman confirmed Faera’s inquiry, setting Kit’s mind at ease. They may have found some allies after all. “But, if it is not impertinent to implore, might we have your name stranger?” The young woman slapped her forehead and laughed.

            “I forget myself again.” She curtsied, revealing a strange ornament that hung around her neck on a silver chain. It was solid gold, and in the shape of a triangle, telling Kit exactly who this woman was before she even introduced herself.

            “I am Zelda.”

 

            Kit fell to his knees after the shock had left him, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

            “My lady!” He shouted unintentionally. Faera knelt as well, rolling her eyes at the boy’s display which both amused and embarrassed the Princess.

            “Oh,” she gave a few light chuckles before reaching out her hand to the boy’s chin, raising it so that they were looking at each other again. “Please, both of you, dispense with any formalities concerning me. Up here in the mountains I am Zelda, nothing more.” Kit recoiled from her touch and bowed his head again, trying to not to stutter as he spoke.

            “B-but you are a princess,” he said, “from a long line of royal blood.”

            “Well,” Zelda sighed as she let her arms fall to her sides, “you’re not much of a princess when you’re about seven years into exile.” Kit looked up at her again.

            “You were banished?!” His thoughts went back to the conversation he and Fae had just that afternoon, and how terrible it was for her to be banished from her own kingdom, by her own father no less.

            “It’s not what you think,” She held her hands together and gave a longing look at the map as she spoke. “It is a self-imposed exile I speak of.”

            “You left of your own accord?” Kit had to be told by Faera to stand before he realized he was still kneeling. The boy beat at some of the dirt on his pants as Zelda told them everything.

            “True I am a princess by birth, and I was raised with all that implies. Etiquette, grace, good manners, balancing a book on your head to teach you Gods know what, every stereotypical thought you can think of when you imagine the title ‘princess’ was my life. I never complained, I had no reason to, it was a blessed life. Living in the castle with all my servants who were some of the closest confidants I could ever have. And with my father… and my mother.” Kit gasped. For all his time learning of the princess from Saviha and seeking out the King he had never once thought of her mother. If there was a King then surely there had to have been a Queen.

            “My mother was with me every step of every day. She taught me how to sit, eat, even breathe like a lady. A proper princess with the conviction and wisdom to rule in my father’s stead on the day of his passing and when I found a husband of my own. She was my closest confidant of all, and my best friend. When we weren’t doing any lessons we would sometimes roam the castle gardens or take the family boat out into the ocean to fish or just to sail for a little while. Father would join us too on occasion, he and mother shared a deep love of the sea.”

            “Your mother, that is, the Queen,” Kit said, unsure whether he should finish his thought or not. “She… didn’t make it did she?” The young Gerudo saw regret and pain fall upon Zelda’s brow. He looked at Faera but she was looking at the Princess, her arms folded and her face blank as she listened to all she had to say. It was hard to make out the leader’s expression but in her eyes he could see the same sense of remorse. A memory the two of them shared that they could never relive again.

            “I was to turn thirteen when it happened. A highly unlucky number if one is superstitious. And I was, for some reason or another, back then in my life. I read many ghost stories and tales of mysterious circumstances from all over Hyrule. Whispers of witch’s covenants and dark blood rituals used to wake the dead. There was not a day you couldn’t find me in the deepest corners of the castle library, buried under a fortress of books I’d made to block out all the light as I read story after story by nothing but the dim glow of a candle. I’m surprised I got any sleep at all back then.” She smiled and laughed at herself. Kit had a smile on his lips as well, an easy feat when hers was so infectious.

            “Through all my fears and whenever I’d find myself lost in that fortress of books I’d made with no hope of any light breaking through my own sense of paranoia, my mother was always there. She would sit by my bedside whenever I grew too afraid to sleep alone, break through my fortress to let in the light. But when Ganondorf returned… everything changed.

            “Many of the smaller villages were his first target,” her voice became sullen the more she spoke, “when he was at full power the same he was when he was banished into the Sacred Realm. My father fought back against him as best he could, but nothing could stop him. We thought even the combined forces of the sages wouldn’t be enough.”

            “The sages?” Kit’s immediate thought went to the seven original sages from the legend of the Hero of Time. Had they returned to fight back against the evil as they had all those years ago? The truth was more mundane than he would have hoped.

            “There were seven sages, originally. Some sharing the titles of those who came before them such as Light, Fire, Shadow, and Spirit. To combat the evil of Ganon they combined their powers and met with him on the fields of Hyrule. I can still see the fire so clearly from my window, the dread in my entire being. My heart felt like a lump of coal in the pit of my stomach…” She had to pause a moment before continuing.

            “My father was the one who led the sages against him. He was not a sage himself but he held a special power to unify them. To do battle against the beast and separate the Triforce of Power from him.” Kit had almost forgotten how a piece of the Triforce was still linked to the Dark Gerudo, and how he must still have it after all this time. “But something went wrong. The power of the sages wasn’t enough to seal him away this time, or even to rip the Triforce away. All they could do was strip him of much of his power, which I’m sure he has found again in the years since. His darkest form and all the power it held was gone, but it came at a terrible price.

            “All but two of the sages were killed in the battle. The last ounce of their strength used to give the people of Hyrule a chance for hope. I could see the blast as clear as if the spell had been cast right in front of me. The light that swept over the entire kingdom, making me certain I’d gone blind. And then I waited. My father returned an hour after the spell had been cast, carrying the Sage of Light in his arms.”

            “Why just that sage?” Faera asked. Zelda turned away from them and laid a hand on the table to support herself.

            “My mother… was the Sage of Light.” Kit felt his brain lurch. Even Faera looked too stunned for words. They all were still as if expecting one or the other to say something and keep the unpleasant story going.

            “I lost my mother too.” Zelda turned her head slowly at the boy, who thought he had offended her before she gave him a weak smile.

            “Much has been taken from everyone.” He knew two others who would agree with her, a person of high social standing and another with a higher moral compass. “It does no one any good to dwell on the ones we have lost.” She said with an air of rehearsal in the statement. “I have shed my tears over my mother, and they will not bring her back.” Kit couldn’t remember any time he had shed tears over his own mother. True, he had never gotten to know her, but a sense of guilt always found him when he would wonder and wonder about her, what she was like and how they might have gotten along if they were together, and no immense grief came over him. What kind of son could lose his mother and never mourn her the way he should?

            “My father did not share my sentiment.” Zelda returned to her story, her voice becoming cold at the mention of the King, though not to her own intent. “It was after her burial that all the city’s efforts went into hunting Ganondorf down. He had fled into the mountains, to the very one we stand under now, to regain his strength. My father thought that attacking while he was weak would leave him little time to recuperate, that he could be taken down so easily. He was wrong.

            “Ganondorf had made allies with the creatures who dwelled in the darker regions of the mountain, the very same manner of creatures he had waged war with in centuries past. While he rested his army did the fighting for him, taking a defensive position for many months and holding my father’s army along the mountain trail, forcing them back to the ruins of Kakariko. The state of the war remained stagnant for a long time, until Ganondorf’s power returned from him and he went on the offensive.”

            “Then the war truly began.” The leader said to Zelda’s agreement.

            “Ganondorf sought to gain control over all the territories in Hyrule. To isolate the kingdom and cut off all resources. He took control of the desert, sent a naval army to occupy the lake and destroy the dam to the eastern sea, contaminating the clean water of the lake. He has even turned his attention to the Zoras and held a long lasting stalemate with them for control of the fountain.”

            “The fountain?”

            “All of Hyrule’s water comes from it, remember?” Faera said to Kit. “Control the water, and you control the city.”

            “In the early years of the war my father sought to drive Ganondorf out of Hyrule completely. He spared no expense in sending out battalions to give aid to the Zoras and even to the Kokiri in the forest. He kept a patrol along the desert and sent ships to guard the shipping routes along the sea that led to Lake Hylia. So it remained for many years, but by the time I turned sixteen something was different within my father.

            “His heart grew cold and his intentions were changed. He withdrew many of his battalions and focused his efforts on fortifying the city.”

            “He’s withdrawn his navy from the lake as well.” Kit said, remembering what Loga had told Faera weeks ago.

            “I heard.” Zelda said even though it sounded like she hadn’t believed it. “He’s become drunk with fear at a next large scale attack from Ganondorf, doing most of the work for him by isolating the kingdom from any outside aid.”

            “I spoke with him,” Kit told her, much to Zelda and the leader’s visible surprise. “He said his plan was to wait until Ganondorf had expunged all his resources. That he had other ways of bringing in food or other supplies to the kingdom.”

            “And how many more will die in the process?!” Zelda cursed her father as she hit a corner of the table with her fist. She kept it tight for a moment before curling her fingers outward, trying to dull the pain in her hand.

            “I saw it happening. Saw the light die within him each day after we put my mother to rest. I thought my own light was going to go out as well. I would lay awake at night and wonder how long we had before Ganondorf’s army would tear the city and the castle apart brick by brick. I would build my fortress of books and not even bother bringing a candle in with me, just to surround myself in darkness and imagine myself elsewhere, far, far away to wherever my mother was now. Little did I know how much worse it was for my people.” The images of the poor and the homeless in the Second District came into Kit’s head, the offer Errol had made him to bring them hope still ringing in his ears, leaving him to doubt whether or not he had made the right decision rebuffing him.

            “It was the exact date of my fifteenth birthday, when that dratted festival in my honor was taking place and I had to sit on a golden chariot drawn by the four royal white horses in that garish parade that my eyes were opened. All throughout Main Street I could hear people shouting, singing the praises of me and the royal family, it was the same as it always was each year. As I sat there wondering how they could be so cheerful in the face of all the death that surrounded us, when my mother was long since buried in the family crypts, I thought I would run off into the crowd and escape the whole thing. Or tell them all to go home and stop pretending like everything was fine. Nothing was fine with me back then, and nothing ever felt like it would be the same as it was again.

            “That was when a man broke through the crowd and charged at my chariot shouting something I couldn’t hear over the crowd. We were all frightened, myself included, but my entourage acted quickly. They stopped the man before he could approach the chariot and forced him to the ground, ready to hand him over to the guards before I stopped them. The entire crowd fell into a hush as I stepped down from the chariot, approaching the man with caution. He was old, his hair was falling off and his clothes were wrought with stains I cared not to know the origin of. When I was close enough to make out these features I could see the bones along his chest sticking out from his skin, ready to burst through them for how fragile he looked.

            “I asked him why he had tried to approach me and the poor man could barely breathe a response. I got as close as the guards would allow me so I could hear him, and his request shook me to my heart.”

            “What did he want?” Kit asked, though a part of him already knew the dreadful answer.

            “Food. Water. Shelter. He had come to beg me for all of these. Not for himself but for his family. I tried to tell the guards to let him go but the crowd had started to yell for his removal, for the parade to get back in motion, and they couldn’t hear me. I doubt they would have released him if they did. He died in a prison cell a few hours later, I never learned his name or who his family was.

            “I tried to tell my father about it but he was too wrapped up in war meetings to do much of anything. So I took matters into my own hands.”

            “A choice way to describe it.” The leader remarked.

            “I snuck out of the castle, went to the poorer corners of the city and started helping people wherever and however I could. It was never enough though. Even if I took all the jewels out of the royal treasury and sold the Triforce of Wisdom itself,” she instinctively held the piece hanging around her neck, “it wouldn’t be enough to help my city.”

            “Wandering the streets without any protection wouldn’t do it any good either.”

            “Oh, will you hush?” Zelda said to the leader who only shrugged in response. “As I was saying, it didn’t take long for my father to realize where I was sneaking off to and send a few guards to intercept me, forcing me back to the castle and practically forbidding me from ever leaving my room without supervision again.

            “That was where I came in.” The leader took this opportunity to at last remove her mask, revealing (much to Kit’s suspicion) an older woman who had to be at least twenty year’s Zelda’s senior, but did not look it from her impressive physique. “Impa, at your service.” She winked at the two Gerudo who both returned the greeting in the best way they could given the fact that she had tied them up and held them captive a few minutes ago.

            “Wait a minute,” Kit said as the gears in his mind started to turn. “Impa… the Sage of Shadow?”

            “Of course not.” Impa scoffed. “The original Impa has been dead for centuries, boy.”

            “I _knew_ that.” Kit said in a huff. “I meant that you were named after her, right?”

            “The same as half the Sheikah population in the last dozen generations.”

            “You’ll find the royal family and our allies are remarkably unoriginal when it comes to names.” Zelda said, getting a few hearty laughs from Impa. “Impa had been my guardian much as the first Impa was to my ancestor, and the Sheikah had been keeping an eye on the borders of the kingdom for some time, watching Ganondorf’s movements and keeping extra watch over his base of operations here in the mountain. She’s loyal to a fault and more than a little brash at the worst of times.” She bowed.

            “Sorry if I gave your arm a bit too hard of a twist back there, by the way kid.” She said to Kit. “Though to be fair you did point an arrow at my face.”

            “It’s okay,” he began to rub it subconsciously, “it doesn’t hurt at all.” Impa made a noise that implied she didn’t entirely believe him but she left it alone as Zelda continued.

            “When my father slipped away into war mongering and confinement I decided it was time to use the Sheikah to defend more than just the royal family. We would take the fight to Ganondorf, force his hand and destroy many of the encampments he’d made around the kingdom. Starting with the one here in Death Mountain.”

            “Due to its strategic importance as a watchtower over the valley.” Kit said, ignoring the look Faera gave him out of the corner of her eye.

            “Precisely.” Zelda smiled. “On the eve of my eighteenth birthday we snuck out of the castle and the city itself, preparing our surprise attack on Ganondorf’s base. We struck fast and we struck hard, eliminating the majority of the army based here with only a few casualties. Unfortunately Ganondorf himself was nowhere to be found.”

            “Retreated back into the desert like the worm he is.” Impa said.

            “All that matters,” Zelda was quick to change the subject in case Impa said anything else that could be unintentionally offensive to their Gerudo guests, “is that we secured the mountain, and we’ve kept it ever since.”

            “And now you’ve set up your own secret militia to disrupt his plans from the shadows.” Faera concluded.

            “That’s the long and short of it.” Zelda said. “You must understand I never meant to cause my father or my kingdom any grief over my departure, but I could no longer sit in my room doing nothing while they suffered.”

            “I do understand.” Kit said. “And I want to help you.” He was about to kneel again before Zelda stopped him.

            “Please, no more kneeling. I’ll be most grateful for any help you can give.” She was not at all like Kit was expecting, especially after he had heard so much about the Zelda who had fought alongside the Hero of Time. It only made her all the more unique to him.

            “So,” Faera went to the table and leaned over the map, studying the markings of the eye meant to signify where the few remaining Sheikah were camped across the kingdom. “What’s our next move?”

            “Oh, your back.” Zelda put her hand on Faera’s shoulder as she inspected the burns she had sustained.

            “The explosion we heard in Kakariko,” Impa told her, “Bokoblins bombed the Lady of Luck’s abode. They were caught in it.”

            “By the Goddesses…”

            “I’m fine.” Faera jerked her shoulder away as she tried to focus on the map, but Zelda would have none of it.

            “No you’re not, you’re lucky to be alive with wounds like this.”

            “I’ve endured worse.”

            “She’s not lying.” Kit attested, seeing his fair share of how Faera got some of her nastiest scars.

            “Just hold still.” Zelda stood behind the Gerudo and held her arms out so that her hands hovered over the burns on her back. She took slow breaths as she closed her eyes and a white light emitted from her hands, covering the burns on Faera’s back as Zelda began to speak an incantation in the ancient Hylian tongue. Kit stood in awe as he watched the wounds that should have added a few more stories to her body disappear without a trace, the magic from the princess’s hands sealing the skin and nulling the pain Faera had fought so hard to ignore the past three-quarters of an hour.

            The spell was over no sooner than it had begun, and both Gerudo were left at a loss for words.

            “What… did you do?” Faera reached her arm backwards to feel where the burns should have been but felt nothing except her bare skin.

            “Magic runs deep in my family.” Zelda said. “My mother taught me a few tricks in-between those book balancing lessons.” Very unique indeed, he thought. Faera thanked her before returning her attention to the map.

            “Where do you plan to strike next? Where does _he_ plan to strike next?”

            “At the moment he hasn’t made any major attacks.” Impa pointed to Zora’s Domain. “But most of his aggression lies here,” her finger did not have to travel far, “and here.” It landed on Kokiri forest.

            “I understand why he would want to drive out the Zoras,” Kit said, “but why focus on the forest?”

            “I have a theory,” Zelda said, “I just hope I’m wrong.”

            “What theory would that be?” Faera asked.

            “Actually, it partly involves you, Kitorit.”

            “Please, call me Kit.” He said, earning a wonderful smile again. She could give Tom a run for his money.

            “Do you believe in fate, Kit?” She asked him. There were times when Kit often confused ‘fate’ with ‘luck’ and Faera had always told him never to trust the latter. But then it was not mere luck that had made him born as the single male Gerudo in a hundred years, or brought him here all the way from the Wilds. If fate was at work, at the moment it may have been on his side.

            “I don’t take anything for granted.” Faera’s nod let him know this was a good answer.

            “I believe your coming here was no accident.” Zelda said. “Even the unfortunate incident with the Bokoblins may yet serve a higher purpose.” She went to the other side of the table and ducked under it, pulling out a large chest that Impa helped her lift onto the table. She produced a key from a pocket sewn into her dress (with thread so small it was practically transparent) and put it in the lock of the chest, turning it so that the lid popped open. She reached inside and retrieved a rag tied into a bundle. She put the rag onto the table and untied it, letting it unfold until the items inside it were unveiled, much to Kit’s disbelief.

            “Is that…” He had to stop himself from touching it, just to make sure it was real. But it was, there was no other object quite like it in the world, save for the one that hung around Zelda’s neck.

            “The Triforce of Courage.” Faera finished for him. Most of it, at any rate. They were shards of the Triforce, five in total, and no two shards looked exactly alike, yet they all looked like they would fit in perfect harmony together, if only it were truly whole.

            “What happened to it?” Kit asked.

            “When the Hero of Time left,” Zelda said, “it was believed he took the Triforce of Courage with him. And perhaps he did, but the three pieces of the Triforce always find a way to draw themselves together.”

            It was unclear how exactly it happened, but when the Hero of Time left Hyrule the Triforce of Courage was split into eight pieces, brought together by those who would carry on the legacy of the seven sages, and to the royal family of Hyrule whose legacy would always be bound to each piece of the Triforce, for good or for ill. Zelda explained to them that these five pieces were in the possession of the five sages who laid down their lives to strip Ganon of his dark might and return him to his Gerudo form, and that all shards of the Triforce were used to complete this spell. The shards were scattered all across Hyrule when the spell was finished, even the shard belonging to her mother had vanished.

            “We found most of the shards around where the sages lived, or at their respective temples.” Zelda showed them the five red crosses on the map.

            “And the other shards?” Faera asked.

            “That’s where Kokiri Forest and Zora’s Domain come in.” Impa said, taking a red paintbrush and circling both.

            “You think the other shards might be there?” Kit asked them.

            “We’re certain of it.” Zelda fiddled with her own Triforce as they spoke. “The two sages that are still alive are the sages of wind and earth, residing in Kokiri Forest and Zora’s Domain respectively.”

            “I don’t remember any sages of earth or wind in the legends.” Kit said, an expert on such things after countless bedtime stories.

            “They took the place of the forest and water elements.” Zelda elaborated. “For what purpose, I do not know. Whatever the reason, I believe the Triforce shards are somewhere within their vicinity, and I suspect Ganondorf knows this as well.” Kit stared at the spots on the map, and at the mark in the desert bearing a symbol that resembled a giant boar.

            “It would explain why he’s so drawn to those two places.” He said, trying to mask his perturbation.

            “We’ve sent plenty of Sheikah over to try and speak with the sages but ever since their first attempt at sealing him away they haven’t set foot out of the forest or the domain.”

            “And I suppose you think we’ll fare better in some way?” Faera said, tired of playing the diplomat by the tone of her voice.

            “We thought you were dead Kit.” Zelda said as she knelt to his eye level. “Ganondorf spread propaganda all throughout the city, papers describing how he slaughtered the ‘pretend Gerudo king’ and all other traitors who opposed him.” Faera turned her head away from them as Zelda described this. “Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine you would not only be alive and well, but show up on my doorstep ready to join the fight against Ganondorf. And I believe your involvement may turn the tide to drastic extremes.” Kit let everything she said sink in, how alike it sounded to all the conversations he would have with Faera about his destiny as the true King, and all that implied.

            “But I’m just one Gerudo.” He said. “One kid.”

            “That is true,” Zelda stood, her smile creeping onto the corner of her lips. “But there may be a way for you to even the odds.” Without another word Zelda put her hands under the lid of the chest and lifted it slowly. Inside it was an item Kit never thought he would see in his wildest dreams. Any one piece of the Triforce, even shards of a piece, was one thing, but this item, lying peacefully on red cushion that lined the inside of the chest, was a part of the legend he would never imagine to come anywhere near his possession. Yet here it was, the Master Sword right in front of him, in all its glory.

            “This sword always seems to find a way back to Hyrule as well.” Zelda said. Kit’s hand reached out to touch it as well, pulling it back before he saw Zelda give him an insistent look. Hesitantly, and with great respect at what he was about to hold, he took the hilt of the sword in his right hand and lifted the blade with his left. “Careful,” She hadn’t meant to coddle him but Kit didn’t hear her anyway. Faera stood over the boy, her marvel at the sword and at the mere fact that her pupil was holding it filling her with a mixture of emotions she’d always tried to bury. She blinked to stop herself from crying as Kit felt a tear fall down his cheek. Still, there was something off about it.

            “The edges, and the jewel. They’re not right are they?” Kit saw no shame in knowing how the sword should have looked from description of it alone.

            “The sword has long since lost its power.” Zelda said. “The power to repel evil lost to it when the Hero of Time left.”

            “Then how are we-” Zelda held a finger close to the Gerudo’s mouth.

            “Not to worry, the secret to giving it back its strength and finding the missing Triforce shards lie in the same path.” Kit wasn’t sure what she was talking about at first until his gaze fell on the circled points of the map again.

            “The sages.” He realized, and Zelda affirmed his guess.

            “If they are taught the proper song they can give the Master Sword the power to repel evil even though its chosen wielder is long gone from our world.”

            “What song?” Kit asked.

            “That, I’m afraid, will have to come later.” Zelda said. “When the sages are reunited and their respective shards of the Triforce are brought back to join the others.”

            “So that is our quest?” Faera said. “To find the remaining shards of the Triforce of Courage, and bring the sages together and give the Master Sword its power back to fight Ganondorf.”

            “It’s worth a try Faera.” Kit said, knowing from the way she spoke that she was skeptical. “You wanted to go and meet with the Zoras anyway, and now we actually have a weapon that has defeated Ganondorf before.”

            “The victory over Ganondorf was not the sword’s alone.” Kit felt the sword grow heavier in his arms, the thought of who had wielded it originally causing him to almost drop it.

            “Any two-bit ragamuffin can wield a sword,” Impa stated, “but from what I saw of your fighting skill, Faera, I think the Master Sword will be in good hands.” Kit felt his cheeks turn red.

            “Well, I’m not bad with a sword.” He said, holding the Master Sword more properly as though he were ready for an attack at this very instant. “I’ve never really had one my size before though.” It wasn’t really his size either, but it didn’t strain him to hold it like the scimitars did, and as he brandished it he felt like he could be quick in a battle while carrying it. Faera adjusted his elbows and told him to loosen his shoulders.

            “You seem to wield it well enough.” She observed. He smiled up at her the way only a young boy just told he could keep a sword could.

            “I’d wipe that smile off my face boy,” Impa said in a half-jovial matter. “What we’re asking you to do isn’t going to be easy, no matter what sword you’re carrying.” The smile on Kit’s face fell as this fact crept upon him.

            “No one will force either of you to take on this task.” Zelda said, giving Impa a glare that the Sheikah enjoyed. “The choice is only yours to make, and we will think no less of you no matter what you choose.” Kit looked to Faera, who only bowed her head to him.

            “I will follow you in whatever you decide.” To the end, Kit knew.

            He could see his reflection in the Master Sword’s blade. How many times had he looked upon it without knowing who was staring back at him? Even now that there was a purpose for him, a destiny he had to face and a power to restore to two legendary artifacts, he still could not say if he knew who was looking back at him. He thought of where he might find it depending on the choice he made. Would he find it if he left his birthright, forgot about Ganondorf and left Hyrule to whatever fate lay in store for it? Or would he find it when he accepted the destiny chosen for him by whatever outside forces were at play? Would he find it on either path at all?

            No matter what the outcome he knew there was one constant to each decision. He would never forgive himself if he left the citizens of Hyrule’s lives in jeopardy. If there was some way taking up the Master Sword could bring this war to an end, even if he were not there to see its conclusion, it was a path he would have to take, no questions or doubt in mind.

            “I’ll do it.” He decided.

            “I must warn you again,” Zelda said, “if you go down this path, you can never go back from it. You will be a part of a war you have every right to leave behind, and you will be forced to see it through to whatever end. Are you truly prepared for that?” They all stared at him expectantly, none more eager for an answer than he.

            “No.” He answered truthfully. “But I’ll see it through regardless.”

 

            The preparations were made for Faera and Kit to sleep in one of the private barracks, and for a sheath to be created to house the Master Sword due to the original being lost for centuries. The Sheikah would take care of everything while the King and his caretaker slept. Perhaps the last peaceful night’s rest they would have in a long time.

            “Do you think it wise,” Impa asked Zelda when they were alone, “to put the weight of the war on a boy’s shoulders?”

            “He’s carried the weight of his people on them for all his life.” Zelda said. “His stake in this conflict is as personal as yours or mine.”

            “But will it be enough when he does face the Dark Wizard?” The Princess did not have an immediate answer. She too wasn’t sure if fate were real or if there was some kind of dark spirit that enjoyed unraveling the seams of their lives until there was nothing left. And if she were wrong she may have just pulled on the first seam to unravel Kit’s.

            “We shall see.” She decided.


	12. A King's Promise

Across the desert, far beyond the deserted fortress of the Gerudo and the valley of winds so strong they could tear the flesh from the bone in a matter of seconds, stood a prison that was built to contain the worst from the dark crevasses Hyrule had to offer. Criminals either brought here to be left to die or to be killed and forgotten, their bodies cast to the sands and forgotten by all who tried so desperately to forget. But he would not be forgotten, not so easily.

            He would carve his name into the minds of every Hylian, with the steel his army toiled restlessly to create. He would etch his name into the history books, shaping them to match his greatness. His army would march across the kingdom and shout his name in battle until the entire world could say it without hesitation. All this would be ensured when his conquest was over.

            The war was drawing to a close. All he needed to decide was when the time was right to draw the curtain.

            The arrival of that boy and his serf had certainly prolonged any definite plans for attack, not helped due to the Bokoblins he’d sent after them failing to dispose of them as he had hoped. Imbeciles, the lot of them. Good for brute strength and numbers but useless for plans of discretion and stealth. To slit the throat of the babe twelve years overdue he would need to think of more subtle methods. Not that he _needed_ to kill him in order to bring the war to its end, he just hated to leave any loose ties if he could help it.

            He had come this far, gained back much of what he had lost after his defeat, and now all that remained was to defend it. No chances would be taken, no loose cogs left to sully the machine. The boy would die, one way or the other.

            He knew this as he looked down upon his army, as he thought of the legacy of their people and the ancient tradition that had governed them from before even his time. If not by his hand then by some other means the boy would meet his doom. For as the laws of their culture dictated;

            “There can only be one.”


End file.
